On the drive home he fell asleep against the window the way he has since he was small, and I drove north with my hand going up to my collarbone every few miles to check, the way you check a thing you have already lost once.

The locket hangs on the corner of the frame in the hallway now.

I tried it in a jewelry box, which felt like a vault, and I tried wearing it every day, which made me anxious in a way I didn’t enjoy examining.

So it hangs on the upper right corner of a wooden frame, over a stretched navy-blue hem and a faded line of blue marker, under a small silver moon.

MY MOM MAKES OUR SMALL HOME FEEL LIKE THE WHOLE WORLD.

There’s a letter in the drawer of the hall table underneath it.