Page 86 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

I stared at the stranger in the picture who really wasn’t a stranger.

I clearly saw the resemblance. It was indisputable. I had his lips and just like my mom had said, I even had his smile. His hair was wavy, bordering on curly, and I assumed that was where I got my natural waves.

She handed me more, and I flipped through them, finding more of myself in him.

Finally, the last picture she handed me was one of her with Derek. It was a close-up and you could see Derek’s arm as he held out the camera to take the picture. My mom was curled against his side. Neither of them was looking at the camera though. They were looking at each other, and the love on both of their faces was unmistakable. I had never seen that look on my mom’s face in all my twenty-years of life. I think a part of her must have died that day with Derek.

I flipped through the pictures, again and again, memorizing his features, and imagining how different my life could have been if Derek Wynn hadn’t died.

But…if Derek hadn’t died, and I hadn’t grown up with Aaron as a father, I would’ve never been desperate to get away.

I would’ve never met Trace.

Like I had told Trace that night in my dorm room, we can’t undo the past, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Those bad things, led me to Trace.

Every decision, every moment, has the opportunity to change the course of our lives.

One moment can change everything.

For me, that moment was when I met Trace.

For my mom, it was when she met Derek.

We were similar in that regard.

“Can I keep one?” I held up the pictures, surprised to find that I was crying.

“They’re all for you,” she whispered, draping an arm over my shoulder. I hadn’t realized she had sat down on the floor beside me. I had been too taken with discovering a piece of me that now only existed in these photographs. “I can’t bear to look at them. It hurts too much. They’re for you, Liv. They’ve always been for you.”

I bundled the photos into a neat stack, and cradled them close to my heart, crying for a man that I would never know.

c h a p t e r

Fifteen

I woke up, and the first thing I did, was look through the photos again. Unfortunately, the photos didn’t reveal much about Derek. After all, they were only photos. They couldn’t tell me what his voice sounded like, or his favorite color, or his hobbies.

I did notice that a lot of them were taken outside and I wondered if Derek—my dad—enjoyed being outside like I did.

I’d always rather be outside, soaking in the sun, than stuck indoors.

A banging on my door startled me.

I glanced at my bedroom clock.

It was nine o’ clock in the morning; I should’ve been up two hours ago, to avoid this wrath.

“Olivia Owens! Open this door right now! You know you’re not allowed to close your bedroom door!” My dad’s-er, Aaron’s-voice bellowed throughout the house.

I hopped up from my bed like it was made of hot coals, and bound across the room in two large steps, swinging the door open.

“You may sleep in late at that school of yours but that’s not allowed in my house!” He bellowed.

“I’m sorry,” I reached up, pushing my ratty hair from eyes.

“What’s this?” He hissed, his large meaty hand capturing my arm. He gripped it tightly and I cried out as he held it up for inspection. Cold eyes glared at me. “What is this on your arm?”

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