Still there.
Same shape.
Same position.
My knees weakened.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
Grace stared at me.
I ran.
Not out of the house.
Across the hall to my bedroom.
I opened the lowest drawer of my dresser and pulled out a velvet pouch.
Inside was a silver locket I had not worn in years.
Adrian had asked about it once.
I told him it belonged to my mother.
That was all.
I ran back.
Grace had wrapped the robe around herself.
She looked frightened now.
I opened the locket.
Inside was a photograph.
Faded.
A woman in her thirties sitting on the grass with a little girl on her lap.
The woman’s hair was dark.
Her smile wide.
Her right shoulder partially visible beneath a summer dress.
And there it was.
The same crescent.
Grace leaned closer.
Her breathing changed.
I whispered:
“This is my mother.”
She looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
I could barely force out the next words.
“Her name was Eleanor Bennett.”
Grace’s face went blank.
I said it again.
“Eleanor.”
Her lips parted.
Nothing.
I touched the photograph.
“This little girl is me.”
Grace’s hands started trembling.
