Kendra’s POV
I sat on the edge of my bed and opened the photo album. Page after page, I stared at a girl I could barely remember being. Just a toddler in white, clinging to a man who clearly adored her.
My father.
Even without memory, I could see it in his face; how precious I was to him that day. His eyes never left me in a single frame. He looked like he would have given me the world.
I felt strange.
Detached.
Because even though I could see how much he loved me, I couldn’t remember returning it. Not truly. And that guilt pressed down on me as I flipped through more photos of him and my mother, looking stupidly happy. She’d been in love. So what changed? What pushed her to leave him and take me with her?
I didn’t get the chance to answer that.
The soft creak of my door broke the
