I stared at the chest, at the old photographs tucked inside, at the faded letters tied with a ribbon that had long since lost its color. One photo showed a woman with a gentle smile,
her hair pulled back in a loose braid, holding a baby that looked exactly like Grace at that age. The woman’s eyes were kind, but there was a flicker of something I couldn’t place.
My mind raced. Daniel had never spoken of his wife beyond the brief, hushed mention of a car accident four years ago. The house had always felt like a puzzle missing a piece, and now the missing piece lay before me, covered in dust and time.
Grace opened a drawer, pulling out a small wooden box.
Inside lay a necklace, a simple silver chain with a tiny pendant shaped like a heart. She held it up, her face illuminated by the dim light.
“She always wore this,” Grace said, her voice soft.
