The bracelet was colder than it had any right to be, a ghost of metal pressing into my palm. The tiny heart charm caught the weak morning light slanting through the blinds, winking like it knew something I didn’t.
I should’ve gone straight to Noah, told him what had arrived on our doorstep, handed him the bracelet and photo like they were evidence in some horrible trial. That’s what a sane, reasonable person would do but sanity had nothing to do with this. This was my mother.
I placed the bracelet on the counter with care, almost reverence, then picked it up again because leaving it alone felt wrong. The photo was still in my pocket, its edges digging into my thigh like a splinter. Every time I shifted my weight, I thought about her eyes in that image not just wide with fear, but locked
