It was not my grandmother’s bracelet, the one I sold years before.
That one had been delicate gold with tiny blue stones.
This bracelet was silver, with a small engraved charm.
Three words appeared on it:
Chosen. Loved. Home.
“I tried to find the original,” Ethan said. “The pawnshop closed years ago. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head as tears slid down my cheeks.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I wanted you to have something back.”
I fastened the bracelet around my wrist.
“You already gave me everything back,” I said.
Ethan hugged me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Richard called two days later.
