until I placed the necklace on the glass counter.
His hand froze.
He picked it up carefully, turned it over, and suddenly went pale.
His lips trembled.
Then he looked directly at me and whispered,
“Miss… where did you get this?”
“My mother lent it to me,” I replied.
His eyes widened in astonishment.
“No,” he said, almost breathless. “This can’t be…”
He stepped back so quickly he nearly knocked over a chair, staring at me as if he’d seen a ghost.
Then he uttered the words that split my life in two:
“Your father has been looking for you for twenty years.”
For a moment, I honestly thought he had mistaken me for someone else.
I gripped the edge of the counter to keep from falling.
“What did you just say?”
The jeweler swallowed and glanced nervously toward the front door, as if afraid someone might overhear him.
“Please,” he said quietly, “come to my office.”
All my instincts warned me not to trust him. I was exhausted, in pain, and desperate enough to make rash decisions. But there was something in his expression, something deeper than surprise.
Recognition.
Fear.
Relief.
