“Look!” She squeals. “A duckie, it’s a duckie!”

I nod and smile, knowing how much she loves ducks, laughing at how silly she looks, getting down and quacking in her excitement. “C’mon, Devon,” I grab her hand and try to pull her along, but she plants her feet.

“Can’t we take a picture? Please?” Grudgingly I pull out my camera, snap a picture of the small animal. “I think his name is Melvin,” she giggles. “Hi Melvin! Hi duckie!”

Looking back, I still have that picture of Melvin, standing tall and regal, almost as though he knew he was being photographed. It’s taped up on my wall now, where I can see it every morning.

I don’t know why I took it. I don’t know why I let her talk me into taking a picture of that stupid duck. Maybe she knew it was the last picture on the roll of film. Maybe she knew.

Maybe she knew he would find her that day.

Maybe she knew it was the end.

Maybe she knew, that every time I see that picture, I see her eyes staring out at me.

Did she know I’d cry?
Oh, Devon…