After my mother died, I found a photo album from my childhood – in one of the photos, a girl was standing next to me, she looked exactly like me

She looked exactly like me.

It had always just been the two of us. My father died when I was very young. After his death, my mother became my anchor. She was my provider.

She worked hard, and never talked much about the past.

After the funeral, I returned to her house alone. I took a week off work, leaving my husband and children at home, because I knew I would need several days to sort things out.

My father died when I was very young.

I spent three days working in the bedrooms and closets. Every object held a memory. And every memory reminded me how small our world had been.

In the attic, dust rose and the light bulb flickered before going out.

That's where I found the albums stacked in a cardboard box.

I took them downstairs and sat on the floor, opening them one after the other. Page after page, my childhood appeared to me — birthday parties, school photos, summer holidays.

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