When Dawn Breaks
an excerpt

The morning dawned warm and humid, with the kind of rare beauty one associates with the promise of a bountiful Spring. As the sky filled with rose and orange in the east, Michael stood in front of the bay window and stared out at the beach, arms clutched at his elbows, the beauty of the day reflected in his eyes, but unseen. After a few minutes, he walked away from the window, into the increasing lightness of the den and sat heavily on the sofa, a sigh escaping from his lips. He nodded to himself, almost absently, before reaching for the handle beneath the coffee table, opening the drawer and pulling out the white photo album.

His long fingers traced along the edge of the book; the gold leaf accents still looked as new as the day it was put together, much to his surprise. He ran his fingers over the edge of the plastic-coated pages before closing his eyes. Steeling his nerves, Michael opened the album as he had on this same day half a dozen times before. The familiar catch in his lungs and quick burning in his eyes felt like a comfort to him, like an old friend he hadn't caught up with in a while. He stared down at the first page and willed himself to smile at the face pictured in front of him. It felt more like a grimace, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

"Hello, Sara. I miss you," he whispered, just as he done every year before.