She just walked away leaving me standing in the middle of the room. My father’s office as she referred to it. I could never understand why she kept the door locked and the room dusted. My father has been gone as far back as I can remember. She keeps this room kept as if he would walk in and sit behind the desk. I looked around. Hanging on the walls were newspaper clippings and pictures of family. Setting around on book shelves and tables were plaques and trophies. I sat behind the desk. I could feel what my father was portraying when he set this office up. One of both pride, and sadness. The room was in dark colors and as I look around, it was divided. On one side was all the sports stuff, on the other family. In one part of the room in a corner, there under a soft light what looked to be photo album sealed in shrink wrap. I crossed the room and started to pick it up.