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.
I laid them on the table between us without a word and watched him look at them. He picked one up, set it back down, and folded his hands as if time might stretch if he held it still.
“I can go to the police,” I warned. “Or you can tell me where you got it.”
He let out a slow breath, the kind that comes before the truth. Then he told me everything.
Twenty-five years ago, a business partner had come to him with the necklace. The man said it had been in his family for generations and was known to bring extraordinary luck to whoever carried it.
