inside the bag.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
It belonged to my mother.
The thin band was scratched near the setting. Three tiny diamonds surrounded a pale blue stone, and one of the gold prongs bent slightly inward.
I knew every imperfection. I had stared at photographs of that ring until the image followed me into my dreams.
It belonged to my mother.
She had worn it every day for twenty-three years. She slept in it, showered in it, even kneaded bread with it on. After she disappeared, we found her purse, clothes, and jewelry untouched at home.
Only the ring was gone.
Of course he remembered.
“You recognize it,” Jett whispered.
I nodded. Of course he remembered. I had shown its photograph to every coworker, begging them to tell me if they ever saw it.
My fingers closed around the bag.
The couple had possessed the one thing
