[Alice takes the photo and looks at it, her brow furrowing almost immediately as she attempts to parse out its meaning. The child is unmistakably Yuri, the smile recognizeable even at such a young age. (He's adorable, Alice can't help but notice, and a bittersweet wave of affection blossoms within her. She still misses him terribly.) The man is Yuri's father, whose face she never saw but is so similar to Yuri's that the resemblence is hard to miss.
And the woman, impossibly, is Karin.
She turns it over and reads the caption, which simultaneously explains the photo and leaves her with more questions. Anne is Yuri's mother--she knows much about the woman through Yuri's own childhood recollections. How much she and his father loved each other. How much they both loved their son. Her kindness. Her loneliness. The tragedy that befell her.
The cross she carried, imbued with love and memory and meaning. The same cross Karin showed her the night they drank and cried and mourned, months ago.
It makes no sense. And yet, somehow, it sort of does.]
You're Anne.
[Finally, she lifts her eyes from the photo and locks them with Karin's.]
no subject
And the woman, impossibly, is Karin.
She turns it over and reads the caption, which simultaneously explains the photo and leaves her with more questions. Anne is Yuri's mother--she knows much about the woman through Yuri's own childhood recollections. How much she and his father loved each other. How much they both loved their son. Her kindness. Her loneliness. The tragedy that befell her.
The cross she carried, imbued with love and memory and meaning. The same cross Karin showed her the night they drank and cried and mourned, months ago.
It makes no sense. And yet, somehow, it sort of does.]
You're Anne.
[Finally, she lifts her eyes from the photo and locks them with Karin's.]
But how?