“A short note.”
“About what?”
“The promise.”
Nothing about sacrifice.
Nothing about how much I spent raising Lauren.
Nothing about being excluded.
Just the history of the locket.
Later that morning, I cleaned it carefully at the kitchen table.
The clasp needed adjustment.
I used the small jewelry tools my father had left behind years earlier, then decided the chain was too fragile to trust my own repairs.
I took it to a local jeweler.
The woman examined it.
“The clasp is worn.”
“Can it be repaired today?”