Chapter 22 - The Locket
The silver locket returned to Mara after the gala.
I expected Tamsin would keep it.
She gave it back.
“Mom’s.”
Good.
One day, a year later, Mara handed it to me.
“Fix hinge.”
I laughed.
“After seven years, this is why you trust me?”
“You bought it.”
I took it to a jeweler.
Not replaced.
Repaired.
Inside photo remained.
Me and Mara.
Young.
Before Tamsin.
When I returned it, Tamsin opened the locket.
“Dad young.”
“Cruel.”
“You had hair weird.”
Mara laughed.
Justice.
Then Tamsin asked:
“Why Mom keep your picture when mad?”
Mara answered:
“Because being angry at someone doesn’t erase everything that happened before.”
Good.
Tamsin looked at me.
“Did you keep Mom?”
A photo?
“Yes.”
I had one photograph in a locked drawer for years.
The waterfront.
Different print.
I brought it next visit.
Tamsin compared.
“Same day.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“You both dumb.”
Mara laughed until she cried.
I agreed.
The locket did not become a magical paternity object anymore.
It became jewelry.
Mara wore it sometimes.
Sometimes left it in a drawer.
Tamsin borrowed it at eight for a school:
“something old”
presentation.
She told the class:
“My mom had this before I was born.”
Not:
This exposed a family conspiracy.
Good.
May you like
Children deserve objects that stop carrying adult courtroom weight.
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