I opened my mouth and my voice came out like it belonged to someone else.
“It’s… beautiful,” I managed.
Will glanced between us, confused by my tone. “Mom?”
My hands were suddenly cold, even with the oven heat on my face. I forced myself to breathe through my nose, like you do when you’re trying not to faint in public.
“Where did you get it?” I asked.
I tried to make my voice casual. I tried to make it sound like I was simply a woman who appreciated jewelry. Like my heart wasn’t pounding so hard it made my ears ring.
Claire smiled, easy. “My dad gave it to me. I’ve had it since I was little.”
The words didn’t make sense. Not in any world that followed basic rules.
There was no second necklace.
There never had been.
My mother’s necklace had been singular. Unique. Heavy with history, with fingerprints, with the kind of family legend people used to whisper over coffee.
If Claire had had it since she was little, that meant her father had possessed it for at least twenty-five years.
Which meant he had possessed it while my mother was wearing it in photographs.
While my mother was alive.
While the necklace was still in our house.
I felt my face go tight. My smile felt like it was pinned on.
“That’s… wonderful,” I heard myself say. “It suits you.”
“Thanks,” Claire said, beaming, like she’d just been given permission to relax.
Will squeezed her hand. “Told you my mom would love you.”
Something bitter rose in my throat at the word love, but I swallowed it down with the skill of a woman who has spent decades being polite even when the world cracked under her feet.
Dinner happened.
I can’t even tell you what it tasted like.
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