My sister kissed my husband in front of thirty people at her own anniversary party and called it a joke. kertati Her husband had a wrapped present in his hands and an envelope she had never opened.

Sasha stared at him.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

She laughed nervously.

“Bram—”

“Go on.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Open it.”

Something in his voice changed the entire garden.

Sasha stopped smiling.

She slowly took the bag.

Pulled away the tissue paper.

Then she saw the frame.

Her face changed.

Not dramatically.

That would have been easier.

Instead, all the colour slowly disappeared from it.

Inside the frame was a photograph.

Two people standing beside a black car.

A hotel behind them.

A timestamp printed in the bottom corner.

8:23 a.m.

Tuesday.

Sasha’s car was parked beside them.

The man was Callan.

The woman was Sasha.

They weren’t kissing.

They didn’t need to be.

The way they stood told its own story.

Her hand was inside his coat.

His hand was resting against her waist.

And they were looking at each other like people who had done this many times before.

Sasha whispered, “Bram.”

My mother took the frame from her.

She looked at it.

Then at Sasha.

Then at Callan.

She sat down.

Callan said my name.

“Bryony—”

I raised my hand.

He stopped.

I didn’t want his explanation.

Not yet.

I looked at Sasha.

“How long?”

She stared at me.