Richard stared.
He had never seen the photograph.
His throat tightened.
"Where did you find this?"
The woman smiled.
"My daughter took it."
She looked toward the renovated building.
"Your wife told us not to give up."
Richard's eyes filled.
The resident continued.
"She said somebody would have to answer for the money eventually."
Richard nodded.
"She was right."
The woman smiled sadly.
"I wanted you to have something showing her here."
Richard looked down at the photograph.
For several moments, he could not speak.
Then whispered, "Thank you."
The resident touched his arm.
"She mattered to us."
Richard closed his eyes.
When he opened them, tears were running down his cheeks.
"She mattered to us too."
On the third anniversary of Nicole's departure, the Bennett family gathered for Sunday breakfast.
There was nothing remarkable about the morning.
The weather was clear.
A soft breeze moved through the backyard trees.
The house smelled of coffee and pancakes.
Ethan, now fourteen, sat at the dining table working on a school project.
Maya was home for the weekend.
Richard stood beside the stove attempting to flip a pancake without dropping it.
He failed.
The pancake folded in half.
Maya burst into laughter.
Ethan looked up.
"Dad!"
Richard stared at the pan.
"Well."
Maya shook her head.
"You've been practicing for three years."
He looked offended.
"I have improved."
Ethan glanced toward the strangely folded pancake.
"At what?"
Maya laughed harder.
Richard pointed the spatula toward them.
"Both of you can make your own breakfast."
Ethan grinned.
"Gladly."
The family continued laughing.
Then Maya noticed something beside the ceramic mug near the edge of the table.
A pink marker.
She stopped.
For a moment, the old memory returned.
Nicole standing beside the table.
The pregnancy test.
The slap.
The humiliation.
Ethan emerging from the kitchen doorway with the envelope.
Maya felt a brief tightening in her chest.
Richard noticed.
"Sweetheart?"
She looked up.
He followed her gaze.
The marker.
His expression softened.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then Ethan reached for it.
He opened the cap.
Pulled a blank piece of paper from his notebook.
And began writing.
Maya watched.
The boy's handwriting was untidy.
The letters leaned in different directions.
But he worked carefully.
When he finished, he turned the paper toward them.
Across the page, in bright pink letters, were four words.
WE ARE STILL HERE.
Richard stared.
Maya looked toward her brother.
For a moment, she could not speak.
Ethan smiled faintly.
"Thought we needed a new sign."
Richard felt tears gather.
Maya began laughing through her own tears.
She reached across the table and pulled Ethan into a hug.
He groaned.
"Maya!"
She held him tighter.
"You little idiot."
He laughed.