On top of the photograph album was a pile of faded pictures of him and his sister. He guessed they’d been taken in the late seventies, judging by their ages and the quality of the print.
At that time, he thought, she would hold his hand and look at him with wonderment.
How different they were now, as they emptied their Mother’s house, silently removing once treasured items that would soon be junk, placing precious memories on the damp front grass.
When had they grown apart?
When had she reached for his hand, but found wonder in someone else’s?