Chapter 2 - THE PICTURES WITHOUT CARYS
The album told a story before Lowri did.
I photographed every page exactly as it was.
Then every loose photograph.
No repairs.
No tape.
Not yet.
Naomi Price, my attorney, came to the house the next morning.
She had handled my estate planning after Carys died.
Not Carys’s original will.
Different lawyer.
I showed her the album.
She laid the photographs across my dining table.
“Which cuts happened yesterday?”
“The album tear. Maybe two pictures.”
“And these?”
She pointed to older cut edges.
“I don’t know.”
“Do not guess.”
Good.
Then the photograph with Carys’s warning.
Naomi turned it under the light.
“Handwriting?”
“Hers.”
“You certain?”
“Yes.”
“Still verify.”
I nodded.
Then:
“When did Carys die?”
“Twenty-two months ago.”
“Cause?”
“Ovarian cancer.”
No mystery.
No suspicious death.
A disease.
Surgery.
Chemotherapy.
Recurrence.
Eight terrible months at the end.
Then:
“When did you start dating Thomasin?”
I hated the question because I knew why she was asking.
“Eleven months ago.”
“Engagement?”
“Three months ago.”
“Did Carys know Thomasin?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Thomasin had been around my family for years.
My mother loved her.
Country-club family.
Same social circle.
She and Carys had never been close.
“Any conflict?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
I thought.
Carys said Thomasin treated motherhood like a position someone could qualify for.
Thomasin thought Carys was “too sensitive.”
Mother repeatedly invited Thomasin to help during treatment.
Carys often refused.
I had interpreted it as pride.
Maybe.
Then Lowri woke.
Hair messy.
Pajamas.
She saw the photographs.
Stopped.
“Don’t throw.”
“No one is throwing anything.”
She came closer.
Touched one cut photograph.
“Mommy used to be there.”
I swallowed.
“Do you know how it got cut?”
She nodded.
Then looked toward Naomi.
Naomi said gently:
“You don’t have to tell us right now.”
Lowri looked at me.
“Thomasin says Mommy makes Grandma sad.”
My chest tightened.
“When did she say that?”
I nearly asked more.
Stopped.
“We’re going to talk to someone whose job is helping kids explain things safely.”
Lowri frowned.
“Police?”
“No. Child counselor.”
“Am I trouble?”
“No.”
Good.
Then she pointed at one photograph.
A Christmas picture.
Thomasin’s face had been taped over Carys.
“That one was Thomasin.”
There.
Spontaneous.
No leading.
“She said family pictures should show people who are still family.”
I closed my eyes.
Thomasin.
Not Mother directly.
Then:
“Did Grandma see?”
Lowri nodded.
I stopped questioning.
Enough.
Naomi arranged a child therapist with forensic-interview experience because legal conflict was already developing.
Then Thomasin called.
I did not answer.
Voicemail:
“Alwyn, you owe me for the frame and medical evaluation. I will not let you use one childish tantrum to destroy our engagement.”
Our engagement.
Still.
I looked at the ring on my own dresser.
I had taken mine? Men usually no engagement ring. Fine.
Her ring.
Not mine.
Then:
“Lowri has been manipulating you for months because she doesn’t want us married.”
A five-year-old.
Manipulating.
I saved voicemail.
Then Mother called.
No answer.
Voicemail:
“Carys was not well when she wrote many things. Do not turn every frightened thought she had into a prophecy.”
There.
She knew Carys had written warnings.
Plural?
Many things.
I called Naomi.
“Mother said ‘many things.’”
“Good. Preserve.”
Then I searched Carys’s boxes.
Letters.
Medical records.
Cards.
No obvious diary.
But I found one sealed envelope addressed:
For Alwyn, when you can read this without defending everyone.
My hands shook.
I wanted to open it.
Naomi said:
“Photograph first.”
Then open.
Inside:
Two pages.
Not the central secret.
Not yet.
A letter.
Carys wrote:
I know your mother loves you. I know Thomasin thinks she is helping. I also know both of them keep treating Lowri as a role that needs to be managed rather than a child.
My throat closed.
Then:
If I get worse, please do not let them teach her that remembering me is disloyal to whoever comes next.
There.
Memory erasure.
Then:
I am not asking you never to love again.
I stopped reading.
Cried.
Because that had been my guilt.
Dating.
Engagement.
Feeling like I betrayed Carys by continuing.
She had anticipated it.
Then:
I am asking you not to let anyone earn your future by deleting my existence from hers.
I stared at the torn photographs.
Thomasin had done exactly that.
Then the last paragraph:
There is something I need to tell you about your mother and Lowri. I am trying to document it properly because I know you will think I misunderstood if I only say it aloud.
No explanation.
The second page ended there.
No missing page number.
Carys intended another document.
Where?
Unknown.
Now the warning on the photograph mattered more.
May you like
She had been documenting something.
And she knew me well enough to predict I might dismiss it.
