A Thousand Words

Photography. What comes to mind when you hear that word? Memories frozen in time, moments of joy and sorrow captured forever. For some, it’s an art form, a way to express themselves and see the world through a different lens. For others, it’s a means to document life’s events, big and small. I’ve always thought of photography as something special, a way to keep the past alive. Until I found that picture. That picture changed everything.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon when I stumbled upon it. I was rummaging through the attic, looking for an old yearbook. My high school reunion was coming up, and I wanted to remind myself of who was who before facing the inevitable awkward conversations. As I dug through boxes of dusty keepsakes, my fingers brushed against a worn-out photo album. I pulled it out, intrigued by its age and the memories it might hold.

The album was filled with pictures of my family: birthdays, vacations, holidays, candid moments captured with love. There was a sense of nostalgia as I flipped through the pages, seeing my younger self, my parents, and our relatives smiling back at me. But then, near the back of the album, I found it. A single photograph slipped between the pages, almost as if it was meant to be hidden.

The picture was of my dad, standing in a park, his arms wrapped around a woman who wasn’t my mom. He was kissing her, a deep, passionate kiss, the kind that left no room for doubt. My heart sank, and a million questions flooded my mind. Who was she? Why was my dad kissing her? And why was this picture in our family album?

My dad had always seemed so in love with my mom. They were the perfect couple, or so I thought. I couldn’t shake the image from my mind. I needed to know the truth. But how do you confront your father about something like this? The answer, I realized, was you don’t. At least, not right away.

For days, I carried the picture with me, hidden in my bag. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it again, but I couldn’t let it go either. My parents were away on a trip, so I had time to figure things out. I decided to start with the basics: who was the woman in the photo?

I searched through my dad’s old photo albums, hoping to find another picture of her, a name, anything that could give me a clue. But there was nothing. It was as if she didn’t exist outside of that one photograph. Frustrated, I turned to the internet, scouring social media and old friends' profiles, but I hit a dead end. Whoever she was, she wasn’t someone my dad had ever mentioned or introduced to us.

The days turned into weeks, and my parents returned home. I tried to act normal, but the picture burned a hole in my conscience. One evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to talk to my dad. I rehearsed what I would say, how I would approach the subject, but when the moment came, all my plans went out the window.

“Dad, can we talk?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He looked up from his book, a concerned expression on his face. “Of course, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?”

I took a deep breath and pulled the photo from my bag, placing it on the table between us. “I found this.”

He stared at the picture for a long moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he sighed and looked up at me. “I was fearing you’d find that.”

“You knew it was there?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “Yes, I did. Some things you don’t forget, especially when those things remind you of a person.”

“Who is she?” I demanded. “And why were you kissing her?”

My dad leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Her name is Selina. She was an old love.”

“An old love?” I repeated, incredulous. “What happened?”

He smiled sadly. “Selina and I were together before I met your mom. We were very much in love, but life had other plans for us. She disappeared out of my life, and we lost touch.”

“Did she leave you, or did you leave her?” I asked, my voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of desperation.

My dad’s eyes grew distant, as if he was looking back at a time long gone. “It’s complicated. Sometimes, people drift apart, not because they want to, but because circumstances force them to. We both made choices that led us down different paths.”

“But why was this picture in our family album?” I asked, my mind still grappling with the discovery.

He looked at me, his gaze softening. “That picture was taken not long before we parted ways. It was one of the last moments we shared together. I kept it because it reminded me of a time when we were happy. It’s not that I ever stopped loving your mom. But sometimes, certain people leave an indelible mark on our hearts.”

I sat back, trying to process what he was saying. “So, you loved her?”

“Yes, I did,” he replied, his voice gentle. “But I love your mom, too. Life is full of complexities, and love isn’t always simple. I’ve never forgotten Selina, but that doesn’t mean I regret the life I have with your mom.”

As I sat there, looking at the picture, I began to understand. My dad had loved before he met my mom, and that love had shaped who he was. It didn’t diminish his love for my mom, but it was a part of his story, a part of who he was. The image of my dad kissing that woman still lingered in my mind, but now it was part of a bigger, more complex picture.

Photography captures moments, but it doesn’t always capture the whole story. Sometimes, you have to look beyond the image to find the truth. And sometimes, that truth remains elusive, a mystery that makes you question what you thought you knew about love and relationships. My dad’s past love was one of those mysteries, beautiful and complex in ways I was just beginning to understand.