Ten years have passed since the last Sunday we spent together.
Ten years of making a dish anyway… only to scrape it off without touching it.
And for ten years everyone said the same thing:
“You have to move on, Natalie.”
But I never did. And deep down, I never wanted to.
“You have to move on, Natalie.”
***
That morning, the flea market was crowded: a cool, bright day, the kind that makes everything a little more lively. I wasn’t there for any particular reason. I just enjoyed the noise… which drowned out the silence in which I live.
I was halfway through a row of worn books and old CDs when I saw it.
At first, I thought I’d made a mistake. But there was no doubt: a gold bracelet with a thick band and a single teardrop-shaped stone in the center. It was a pale blue, like Nana’s eyes when she was little.
I thought I was wrong.
My hands started shaking. I put it down, then quickly picked it up again as if someone might take it away from me.
The inscription was still there, faintly but clearly engraved on the back of the buckle:
“For Grandma, from Mom and Dad.”
I leaned over the table. “Where did you get this? Who sold it to you?!”
The man behind the table looked up from his crossword puzzle. “A young woman sold it to me this morning. She was tall, slim, and had a full head of curly hair.”
“Where did you get it?”
“AND?”
“But enough questions,” he continued. “$200. Take it or leave it.”
My mouth went dry. I grabbed the edge of the table.
That description… it was really her. It was Nana.
I paid the $200 without batting an eyelid. I held the bracelet close to me the entire way home, as if it were my lifeline. For the first time in ten years, I was holding something she had touched.
I paid the $200 without batting an eyelid.
***
My husband, Felix, was in the kitchen when I walked in. He was standing at the counter, his back to me, pouring the last drop of coffee into a chipped mug we’d had since Grandma was born.
He didn’t turn around. “You’ve been gone a while, Natalie.”
I didn’t answer right away. I leaned closer, clutching the bracelet tightly in my hand, my heart pounding, a mixture of hope and fear.
“Felix,” I said softly, handing it to him. “Look at this.”
“You’ve been away for a while, Natalie.”
He turned around, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you recognize him?”
His eyes fell on the gold ring I held in my palm. I held it up even higher, right under his nose.
His jaw tensed. “Where did you get that?”
“At the flea market. I was wandering around.”
“Did you buy it?”
“Where did you get it?”
“A man was selling it. He said a young woman sold it to him this morning. She had thick, curly hair.” My voice trembled. “Felix, it’s his. I know it. Look!”
I turned it over and showed him the engraving. “For Grandma, from Mom and Dad.”
He didn’t even read it. He took a step back as if it had burned him. “Good heavens, Natalie.”
“It’s her bracelet!”
“You don’t know.”
“Felix, it’s his. I know. Look!”
“Yes, I know, Felix. I know.” I heard her voice rise. “We had it made for her graduation. It’s not a replica. It’s not a coincidence. This… this was on her wrist the day she left.”
She put the coffee cup down harder than she intended, causing it to spill over the rim.
“Are you doing it again? I can’t keep going down this path, Natalie.”
“Do what?”
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