“Lady, that’s all I know.”

I swallowed hard.

“Please… think.”

He folded the newspaper.

“Look, I buy things. People sell things. That’s how flea markets work.”

Then he pointed at the bracelet.

“If you want it…”

He leaned back in his chair.

“It’s two hundred dollars.”

I didn’t hesitate.

Not for a second.

I pulled cash from my wallet with shaking hands and placed it on the table before he had even finished counting the price.

He slid the bracelet toward me.

I picked it up like it was made of glass.

For the first time in a decade…

I was holding something my daughter had almost certainly touched.

Whether she’d worn it yesterday…

Last week…

Or years ago…

I didn’t know.

But hope—dangerous, painful hope—came rushing back stronger than it had in years.

As I hurried toward my car, clutching the bracelet against my chest, only one thought echoed through my mind.

If Nana’s bracelet had found its way back to me…

Maybe my daughter still could too.

Part 2

I don’t remember most of the drive home.

I remember stopping at a red light and realizing I was crying.

I remember checking the rearview mirror as if someone might be following me.

And I remember keeping one hand wrapped around the bracelet the entire time, terrified that if I loosened my grip, it would disappear.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, my palms were damp and my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Felix was in the kitchen.

He stood at the counter with his back to me, pouring the last of the coffee into the chipped blue mug we’d owned since the year Nana was born. The handle had been glued twice, but he refused to throw it away.

“You were gone a while,” he said without turning.

His tone was ordinary.

Too ordinary.

I closed the door behind me and stared at him.

For ten years, I had watched my husband carry grief in silence. I had mistaken his distance for exhaustion. His anger for pain. His refusal to discuss Nana for a different way of mourning.

But now, with the bracelet digging into my palm, something about the way he stood there made me uneasy.

“Felix,” I said.

He glanced over his shoulder.

“What?”

I stepped closer and opened my hand.

“Look at this.”

At first, he only frowned.

Then his eyes dropped to the gold band.

Every trace of sleepiness disappeared from his face.

His shoulders stiffened.

The coffee pot remained suspended above the mug.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

Not What is that?

Not Is that Nana’s?

Where did you get that?

The difference struck me immediately.

I walked closer.

“You recognize it.”

His gaze shifted from the bracelet to my face.

“I asked where you got it.”

“The flea market.”

The coffee pot clicked against the counter as he set it down.

“You bought it?”

“A man was selling it.”

Felix’s jaw tightened.

“He said a young woman brought it to him this morning. Tall. Slim. A lot of curly hair.”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but hope had already taken hold of it.

“Felix, that sounds like Nana.”

He stepped back.

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“You know exactly what.”

I turned the bracelet over and held the engraving toward him.

“For Nana, from Mom and Dad,” I read aloud. “We had this made for her graduation. She wore it the day she disappeared.”

He didn’t look at the inscription.

He didn’t need to.

“People steal things,” he said.

“That bracelet was never reported stolen.”

“It could have ended up anywhere.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then help me find out.”

His expression hardened.

“Natalie, no.”

The word was so immediate and final that it stunned me.

“No?”

“I’m not doing this again.”

“Doing what?”

“Running after another rumor. Convincing ourselves every stranger is her. Calling detectives because someone thinks they saw a woman with curly hair.”

“This isn’t a rumor.”

“It’s a bracelet.”

“It’s her bracelet.”

“You don’t know that.”

My fingers closed around it.

“Yes, I do.”

“You want it to be hers.”

“It has her name inside it!”

He raised his voice.

“That doesn’t prove she’s alive!”

The kitchen fell silent.

Coffee had spilled over the rim of his mug and was spreading slowly across the counter, but neither of us moved to wipe it up.

I stared at my husband.

“I never said it proved she was alive.”

His face changed.

Only slightly.

But I saw it.

A flicker of alarm.

I took another step toward him.

“I said someone sold it this morning.”

Felix rubbed both hands over his face.

“This is what I’m talking about. You find one object and suddenly you’re ready to tear open the whole case again.”

“The case should never have been closed.”

“It wasn’t closed.”

“It was forgotten.”

“By the police, maybe. Not by us.”

“Not by me,” I corrected.

His eyes snapped toward mine.

The words hung between us.

Cruel, but true.

Felix had stopped searching years ago.

He no longer checked missing-person databases. He no longer answered calls from private investigators. He no longer wanted to discuss the old witness statements or the unanswered questions.

Any mention of Nana made him angry.

I had always thought it was because he couldn’t bear the pain.

Now I wondered if there was another reason.

“You’ve spent ten years chasing a ghost,” he said.

“She’s our daughter.”

“She was our daughter.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the color drained from his face.

I stopped breathing.

“What did you say?”

He looked away.

“You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Natalie, please.”

“Say it again.”

He gripped the edge of the counter.

“I meant she’s gone.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“There was never a body.”

“People disappear and die without being found.”

“And people disappear because they’re frightened.”

His head turned sharply.

It was only a movement, but it felt like an answer.

I studied him.

“What would Nana have been frightened of?”

“How should I know?”

“You tell me.”

He laughed once, but there was no humor in it.

“This is exactly why I can’t talk to you about her.”

“Because I ask questions?”

“Because you turn everything into an accusation.”

“I haven’t accused you of anything.”

“Not yet.”

The room went still again.

I slowly lowered the bracelet.

Felix realized what he’d said.

I saw it in the way he swallowed.

“Why would you expect me to accuse you?” I asked.

He grabbed the dish towel and wiped at the spilled coffee too aggressively.

“I don’t.”

“You just said I would.”

“I said you’re upset.”

“I’m not confused, Felix.”

“No. You’re desperate.”

The word landed hard.

He tossed the towel into the sink.

“Keep the bracelet if it makes you feel better. Call the police if you want. But don’t drag me through another year of false hope.”

He walked past me.

At the doorway, he stopped without turning around.

“She’s gone, Natalie. You need to let her be gone.”

Then he left the room.

I stood alone in the kitchen, staring at the dark coffee stain spreading through the towel in the sink.

Let her be gone.

Not accept that she was gone.

Let her be gone.

That night, I couldn’t eat.

Felix stayed upstairs with the bedroom door closed. He didn’t come down for dinner, and I didn’t call him.

I curled up on the couch with Nana’s bracelet pressed against my chest.

Outside, a light rain began tapping against the windows.

I checked my phone again and again, though there were no missed calls.

No messages.

No unknown numbers.

Nothing.

Still, I kept imagining that the screen would light up.

Mom?

It would be that simple.

One word.

One impossible word.

My thoughts drifted back to the last morning I saw her.

Nana had been twenty-three.

Fresh out of college and still trying to decide what came next. She had talked about applying for jobs in Chicago, then changed her mind and said maybe Seattle. The world seemed wide open to her.

That morning, she stood barefoot in the kitchen trying to toast a frozen waffle while tying her hair into a knot.

“You’ll burn it,” I warned.

“I like it crunchy.”

“You like everything burned.”

“It’s called flavor.”

She laughed when the smoke detector chirped.

Felix had already left for work.

At least, that was what I believed.

Nana grabbed her shoulder bag and kissed my cheek.

“I’ll be back later,” she said.

Those were the last words I ever heard from her.