Paris. Our tenth anniversary. A tiny jewelry shop tucked along a side street after the rain. Nancy laughing because she insisted we were too practical for a stone that blue.

Me fastening the clasp while she watched herself in the hotel mirror with tears shining in her eyes.

I’d locked that pendant inside the safe after her funeral.

The next page showed the pearl earrings that had belonged to Nancy’s grandmother.

Then the bracelet I’d bought her after my company secured its first national contract.

Page after page.