The anchor’s voice carried on, steady and assured, weaving theories for the audience at home. No records existed for the necklace, he explained. No jeweler claimed to have made it, no archives traced its path. Experts speculated it could fetch millions at auction, calling it “a piece beyond valuation.”
Mara barely heard the words. Her chest tightened, the edges of her vision blurring. The price, the mystery—none of it mattered. She was staring at proof that a chapter of her life she had sealed shut was still out there, gleaming for strangers to admire.
The screen shifted to a grainy photo from the gala. A woman in a sapphire gown stood under the chandelier, her face blurred to preserve her privacy. But the necklace was crystal clear, resting against her collarbone. The pendant blazed as though it belonged to the glittering room. To everyone else, it was a treasure. To Mara, it was a wound exposed.
Her pulse quickened, breath shallow. She wanted to deny it, to believe her eyes had betrayed her. Yet denial was impossible. The truth gleamed from the screen, undeniable and merciless.
Good story if it lets me connect to the rest of it.