Her daughter’s photo took centre place on the sideboard.
It was a wedding photograph, taken professionally. The happy couple, on the church steps. Lots of confetti, lots of smiles, lots of happiness. It had been a sunny day with a gentle breeze, not enough to spoil the photographer’s attempt to capture the magic of the moment. People at the time agreed that they were meant for each other. People often say that a picture tells a story, you never hear them say that a picture’s story can be purely fictional and based on a lie. It’s hard to see what lies beneath. However, in her mind, she should have seen it. Visitors often ask why she keeps it there, the two of them, on full display like that. She always makes the same reply. “I should have seen it.”
When it happened, just a few weeks after that sunny day of celebration, her husband wasn’t able to cope. Coming on top of a chronic heart problem, he had succumbed to them both. Now all she has to cling to is the life they had all shared, before the picture was taken.
Sometimes, she has brief glimpses of what she was told about that night, but she quickly pushes them away. She often heals the moment by going back to the picture of her daughter’s happy face on the day. It had been her happiest face of all the pictures that had been taken of it.
As time passes, the flashbacks of it grow weaker and further apart. Flashbacks to the night of the birthday bash, the house full of guests, the drinking and the argument. Everybody being asked to leave, everybody did. Then came the even bigger disagreement, one that was physical and eventually violent…
Then, her body was found… he never was.
She should have seen it.