“Let’s put these away,” my mother said, closing the photo album and placing it in the box. Her hands were shaking.

“Can we see just a few more? It’s fun!” My little sister asked, smiling.

Her smile faded as my mother shiver the box under the bed and stood, flattening her skirt with her hands and shaking her head.

“Why not?” My little brother asked, standing at her knee height. “I want to see more of daddy!”

My mother’s jaw clenched and her veins protruded from her forehead. “Not today,” she said. I could hear her voice trembling but my siblings were too young to notice. “Another time. We’ve seen enough today.”

She turned and left us there on the floor, wondering when we could see pictures of our father again. The album lingered under the bed like some forbidden, banished object.