I walked towards her and slipped my hand inside her jacket and squeezed her breasts. She didn’t say anything but brushed her hair to one side sexily...and stood so close, I could feel her breath on my face. She had on glossy red lipstick and I wanted to kiss her so much. She must have read my mind and without warning she pushed me up against the door and pressed her lips against mine. I had no choice but to give in to her mouth and we stood there French kissing for about a minute. I wanted her so. But there's a longing, a need in every one of these pictures. Like she's begging for forgiveness. The way these pictures are taken, it's like she's trying to pull you and your father in, through the lens. I don't think your mother was as one dimensional as you've always thought, Jill." I'm beginning to see that. I've been seeing it from the first time we talked, at the hospice." I'm not saying she was mother of the year or anything but it's pretty obvious she cared a lot about you, even after. More

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