Content Note / Gentle Warning
This piece contains themes that may be difficult for some readers, including intergenerational trauma, the removal of Indigenous children from their families (Sixties Scoop), substance use, and references to Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls.
These histories are real and continue to affect many individuals, families, and communities.
Please take care while reading.
Pause if you need to. Breathe.
You are not alone.
Roman didn’t take his eyes off the photograph.
“I’ve seen him before,” he said quietly. “Not here… not like this.”
Jas stayed beside him, steady, unhurried.
“Where?” they asked gently.
Roman’s gaze didn’t leave the page. It looked like he was seeing through it now, not at it.
“At my grandma’s,” he said. “She had a photo… tucked away in a drawer. Didn’t show everyone.”
His fingers trembled slightly as he hovered near the image—close, but not touching.
“That’s him.”
A chill moved through Ivy Mae.
“Do you know his name?” she asked softly.
Roman nodded.
“My great-grandfather.”
The words settled heavily between them.
“She used to tell stories,” he continued. “About hiding. From the Indian Agent.”
His jaw tightened.
“They would watch. Wait. Come back when you thought it was safe.”
The room felt smaller.
“She hid her children,” he said. “Took them out of sight. Kept them quiet.”
A pause.
“But they were still taken.”
Jas squeezed his hand—steady, present.
Roman exhaled shakily, like something long held had finally found air.
“My mom…” he said, then stopped.
It took him a moment to continue.
“She was one of them.”
Ivy Mae didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t move.
Just stayed with him in the silence.
“She never came back the same,” Roman said. “They said she struggled… substance use.”
His voice flattened—not from distance, but from overwhelm.
“I don’t know what really happened to her.”
Another pause.
“She disappeared.”
The word landed hard.
“They said she might be part of the missing and murdered cases.”
The dog moved closer.
The cat curled at his feet.
Jas didn’t let go of his hand.
“I grew up in a house where none of this was talked about,” Roman continued. “They adopted me. Gave me everything I needed, I guess.”
A faint, bitter exhale.
“Except the truth.”
Ivy Mae lowered herself onto the floor across from him, still holding space.
Roman kept speaking, slower now, like memory was finally organizing itself.
“It wasn’t until high school… there was this teacher.”
His expression shifted slightly.
“They started asking questions. Not accusing. Just… noticing.”
He shook his head, almost in disbelief.
“And then a carver came to the school. Did a demonstration.”
His eyes drifted back to the photograph.
“I didn’t understand it then. But something in me—”
His hand pressed lightly to his chest.
“—recognized it.”
Silence returned, but it had changed shape.
It was no longer empty.
It was shared.
Held.
Connected.
Ivy Mae looked at the rising branches of the family tree.
The careful names. The preserved fragments.
“This wasn’t just saved,” she said quietly. “Someone made sure it would be found.”
Roman nodded without looking away from the photograph.
“Yeah,” he said.
A steadier breath.
“I think it was waiting.”