“…it.”
Her voice wasn’t apologetic. It was defensive.
I stepped closer. “Where did you get that necklace, Nancy?”
My son looked between us, confused. “Mom? What’s going on?”
Nancy lifted her chin. “It was in a box of old things at your house. You said no one wanted them.”
My heart pounded. “That wasn’t ‘old things.’ That was my mother’s jewelry box. The one that went missing.”
The room went silent.
My son frowned. “You said it was donated.”
Nancy’s eyes flickered. Just for a second.
“I thought it was,” she said quickly. “It was in the garage with other stuff.”
“It was in my bedroom closet,” I replied calmly. “In a velvet case.”
My son turned to her. “Nancy?”
She crossed her arms. “You’re really going to accuse me over a necklace?”
“It’s not just the necklace,” I said softly. “The argument you started between my sister and me — repeating things I never said. The documents that disappeared the week you ‘helped’ organize my desk. The vase that ‘slipped’ when you were alone in the room.”
Her composure cracked.
“This family is suffocating,” she snapped. “You act like everything belongs to you.”
“It does belong to me,” I said evenly. “It’s my home.”
My son looked devastated. “Nancy… did you take it?”
Tears filled her eyes — but they didn’t move me.
“You wouldn’t even notice if I hadn’t worn it,” she muttered.
That was answer enough.
My son stepped back like he’d been burned. “Give it back.”
She hesitated… then unclasped it and placed it on the table.
“I was going to tell you,” she whispered.
“When?” I asked gently. “After what else went missing?”
She grabbed her purse and stormed out.
The door slammed.
My son sank into a chair, hands over his face. “I thought she was different.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes people don’t show you who they are. They test how much they can take first.”
He nodded slowly.
That night, I placed the necklace back into its velvet case — and this time, into a safe.
And I locked more than just the jewelry away.
