***
Claire met me at her apartment that afternoon, bright and welcoming, offering coffee before I’d even sat down.
I asked about the necklace as gently as I could frame it.
She set her mug down and looked at me with eyes that held nothing but honest confusion.
“I’ve had it my whole life,” Claire said. “Dad just wouldn’t let me wear it until I turned 18. Do you want to see it?”
She brought it from her jewelry box and placed it in my palm.
I ran my thumb along the left edge of the pendant until I felt the hinge, exactly where my mother had shown me, exactly as I remembered.
I pressed it gently, and the locket opened. Empty now. But the interior was engraved with a small floral pattern that I would’ve recognized in complete darkness.
I closed my fingers around the pendant and felt my pulse spike. Either my memory was failing me… or something was very wrong.
***
The evening Claire’s father returned, I stood at his front door with three printed photos, each showing my mother wearing the necklace years apart.
