"You still kept this," he murmured, his gaze lingering on the old photo of Angelo and I.
There was no surprise in his tone. He already knew Angelo. But something softer threaded through his voice. Sadness, maybe. Or guilt.
"You both looked so...young," he said after a pause. "Different."
"We were," I murmured softly, suddenly feeling exposed.
His eyes flicked to mine. "Innocent."
"Only because we didn't know the things we know now," I said, pressing my lips together.
He didn't answer. He just stared at the photo for a moment longer, before looking away. Like he couldn't bare to look at it any longer.
"What's wrong?" I asked, leaning the broom against the wall, as I walked up to him.
He handed me the photo, then crouched back down, his back to me as he started picking up the broken shards of glass again. "Be careful, Rosie. There are still shards around, you might cut yourself. It's best if you don't get too close."
