Inside was a card with a little green horse under a tree, written in neat, careful cursive.

“You kept every last one,” I said.

“I kept them because I knew you were alive out there somewhere,” she said, her voice quiet in the dim hallway.

“Arlene told me every year that the county file was sealed, but I knew my daughter hadn’t vanished into thin air.”

Claire reached into her apron pocket and took out a worn velvet ring box, faded to a dull gray around the edges.

She opened the clasp with her thumb and held it out to me.