I stood there a long moment, looking at this stranger who was my father’s sister, my grandmother’s daughter, and though we barely knew each other, something warm swelled through me. Quietly I walked to the passenger side of her gorgeous brand-new car and pulled open the door, saw the photograph. “I found that earlier,” Aunt Sara said. “Not sure why I grabbed it on the way out…” But I was. Because somehow she understood. She knew. She knew how badly I needed to connect. Numbly I picked up the faded black-and-white image, and for the first time I could remember, saw my mother.
About the Author
Ellie James believes in dreams and destiny. A graduate of the LSU Manship School of Journalism, Ellie has been writing as long as she can remembering, with tragic poems and tender stories giving way to mystery, adventure, and a fascination with the unexplained. Currently, Ellie resides with her husband and two children in Texas.