Tears welled up in my eyes again.
Jack, the photographer, glanced between Yedda and me, then asked, "So, she's the wife you mentioned—the one who never showed up that night?"
Yedda, not catching his meaning, replied haughtily, "I used to be. But from today on, no more."
"Oh, by the way," she added, turning to Jack with a smile, "are you free today? I'd like to book another session for a new family photo."
Jack hesitated. "Well, I have time, but... shouldn't you give him the picture first?"
Before he could finish, there was a sudden crash.
The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room. Raymond had "accidentally" dropped the frame, shattering it into pieces.
"Oh, whoops. My bad," he said with mock innocence.
The room fell deathly silent.
No one noticed the color draining from Yedda's face as she stared at the ground, frozen in shock.
Nor did anyone see the black cloth slipping off to reveal what had been inside the frame: the black-and-white portrait of Adelaide, now lying quietly among the shards of broken glass.
