People notice things when you start asking the right questions, and by midday, I found her sitting near a bus stop, the same bag from last night resting beside her, her shoulders slightly hunched as if she was trying to make herself invisible.
I walked toward her slowly.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, holding up the necklace.
She looked up.
And froze.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she exhaled, like something she had been holding in was finally letting go.
“I didn’t think you’d recognize it,” she said.
My voice dropped.
“Answer me.”
She hesitated, then said quietly:
“Because it was yours.”
The world tilted.
“I gave that necklace to someone,” I said. “A long time ago.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
My chest tightened.
“She told me about you,” the woman said. “Before she passed.”
Everything stopped.
“Passed?” I repeated.
“She died two years ago,” the woman said softly. “Cancer.”
My grip tightened around the necklace.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She looked at me.
Really looked.
“I’m her sister,” she said.
I couldn’t speak.
“And the boy?” I asked, my voice barely there.
She swallowed.
“He’s hers,” she said.
My heart dropped.
“And yours,” she added.001
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