***
My husband, Felix, was in the kitchen when I walked in. He stood at the counter with his back to me, pouring the last of the coffee into a chipped mug we’d had since the year Nana was born.
He didn’t turn around. “You were gone a while, Natalie.”
I didn’t answer right away. I walked over, bracelet clutched tight in my hand, my heart thudding with something between hope and fear.
“Felix,” I said quietly, holding it out. “Look at this.”
“You were gone a while, Natalie.”
He turned, his brows furrowed. “What is it?”
“You don’t recognize it?”
His eyes dropped to the gold band in my palm. I held it higher, right under his nose.
His jaw locked. “Where’d you get that?”
“At the flea market. I was wandering around.”
“You bought it?”
“Where’d you get that?”
“A man was selling it. He said a young woman sold it to him this morning. She had big curly hair.” My voice shook. “Felix, it’s hers. I know it. Look!”
I flipped it over and showed him the engraving. “For Nana, from Mom and Dad.”
He didn’t even read it. He stepped back like it burned him. “Good lord, Natalie.”
“It’s her bracelet!”
“You don’t know that.”
“Felix, it’s hers. I know it. Look!”
“Yes, I do, Felix. I do know.” I felt my voice rise. “We had this made for her graduation. It’s not a knockoff. It’s not some coincidence. This — this was on her wrist the day she left.”
He set the coffee down harder than he meant to. It sloshed over the rim.
“You’re doing this again? I can’t keep going down this road, Natalie.”
“Doing what?”
“Chasing ghosts! You don’t know where that bracelet’s been. People steal things. And they pawn them. Heck, someone probably dug it out of a donation bin.”
I can’t keep going down this road, Natalie.”
“It has the engraving,” I said, staring at him.
“You think that means something? You think that proves she’s alive?”
“It means she touched it. Recently. Isn’t that worth something to you?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “She’s gone. You need to let her be gone.”
“But what if she’s not?”
He didn’t answer. He just stormed out of the room, leaving the coffee steaming and the air buzzing with something I couldn’t name.
“You think that proves she’s alive?”
That night, I didn’t eat dinner. I curled up on the couch and pressed the bracelet to my chest — then checked my phone, even though I knew there’d be nothing.
My mind replayed the last time I saw her — Nana barefoot, laughing while trying to toast a waffle and tie her hair up at the same time.
She couldn’t pronounce her full name growing up. Savannah — she called herself Nana instead.
