Page 73 of Stolen Fate

Jace sat down next to me on the couch, so close that our thighs touched. Goosebumps broke out across my skin and Jace looked over to me. “Cold?”

I nodded, not wanting to explain my reaction to him. I was already vulnerable; I didn’t want to give him any more pieces of me if I didn’t have to.

He reached back, grabbed a throw blanket and wrapped it around the both of us, moving in even closer to me than before, if that was even possible. I was almost sitting on his lap.

And yes, I briefly entertained the idea of crawling there. Surely, he wouldn’t kick me off.

I shook the ridiculous thought away.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Jace asked.

I hadn’t realized I was smiling. Already my plan for smiling less often had failed me. “Nothing. Just a silly thought.” I pointed to the picture albums. “Show me?”

He moved the first album onto my lap and watched me silently as I opened the book to the first page, finding a 5x7 photo of baby Elliot posing with his eyes closed, and his head resting on two small fists.

Tears sprang to my eyes at the sight, and I didn’t know why I was feeling so emotional, only that I was and I didn’t know how to stop it.

I kept my gaze focused on the image.

Elliot was born with a full head of hair, chubby cheeks, and no doubt, a surly attitude, if the scowls in the pictures were any indication.

I turned page after page, taking Elliot in at different stages of his life, seeing his features changing to become the little boy I recognized, and seeing that surly attitude changing into wide smiles and laughing eyes as time went on.

He was a happy child.

For the most part.

He was mostly alone in these pictures—sometimes he was posing, sometimes he was just lying there, with his feet in his hand, his unruly dark hair getting darker with time, and more unruly with each picture.

He was absolutely perfect in every little way.

Jace didn’t say much aside from a few tidbits of information he would drop in every so often, to tell me how old Elliot was in each picture, what was happening, and who took the pictures.

Most of Elliot’s earlier baby pictures were taken by Jace’s grandma, up until Elliot was three and she passed away.

I did find a picture of her holding a six-month-old Elliot, her smile so bright as she took him in that there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she loved him.

There were also a few pictures of Jace and Elliot together. Most of them were candid shots, with Jace looking down at Elliot with so much love in his eyes. I had never seen Jace look so carefree.

And then finally, we got to the last photo and I paused, taking in the picture of a beautiful woman in a red dress holding onto a no-more-than-ten-month-old Elliot. Neither were smiling.

“Is this her?” I asked. “Elliot’s mom?”

“Yeah. That’s Camila.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t have anything nice to say about the picture. I could see why Jace married her in the first place; she was absolutely stunning in every way possible, even in pictures. With thick, long brown hair, big brown eyes, a pert nose, and full lips, she looked almost like a cartoon character, but in a good way.

Had she been smiling, she would have been breathtaking, but her face was frozen in stone, and for the life of me, I didn’t know how someone could hold onto their child like that and not smile.

And Elliot didn’t look thrilled to be in her arms, either.

The smiling, happy child I was so accustomed to seeing was no longer present, and if anything, he looked distressed to be in her arms. I shut the book with a little more force than I meant to.

I didn’t want to see that look on his face again.

I never wanted to see that picture again.

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