It was all about to be explained by the tiny thing in my hands.

Chapter 6 — The Locket

The tissue paper fell away.

And resting in the palm of my hand was a small, silver-framed locket, faded and worn with age, a locket I had not seen in seventeen years.

I knew it instantly.

And the knowing broke me completely, there in the third row, in front of everyone.

I fumbled it open with shaking fingers.

Inside, on one side, was a tiny, dog-eared photograph of a little girl, perhaps five years old, beaming at the camera, wearing a bright red dress, a dress identical, down to the very last stitch, to the enormous one my son was wearing as he stood before me.