That evening, Nora came downstairs in long pants and an oversized sweatshirt.
“That was before Aunt Vanessa spent an hour fixing the evidence,” she said.
She had seen the edited photo.
When I said I had spoken to Vanessa, Nora gave a tired laugh.
“It won’t matter. She always does it.”
She explained that Vanessa had spent years placing her at the back, choosing covered pictures, or cropping her out.
“I thought you noticed, Mom. How could you not?”
The truth hurt. I had noticed pieces, but never allowed myself to see the pattern.
Part 2: The Dinner
The next morning, I confronted Vanessa.
