She picked up a silver picture frame that used to hold a photo of my mother.

The glass was smeared with dusty fingerprints.

Pamela peeled a neon pink price sticker off a roll and slapped it right over my mother’s face.

“Are you selling family photos now?

Who’s going to buy that?” I asked.

Pamela tapped the price tag with her manicured nail.

“People buy the frames, Samantha.

The paper inside is just garbage.