When a ‘random’ birthday gift turns into a nightmare… 😨 The photo she showed me changed everything.

Then she pulled out her phone and showed me a photo. It was a picture of a young woman, smiling brightly, her arm draped over a railing. On her wrist was the exact same bracelet—the delicate gold chain catching the sunlight.

“This is my sister, Chloe,” my SIL, Jessica, whispered, her voice trembling. “She went missing five years ago. She was wearing this bracelet the day she vanished. I know because… because I made it for her. It’s custom. Look closely at the clasp.”

My heart hammered against my ribs as I undid the clasp with shaking fingers. I handed it to Jessica. She squinted at it, then let out a choked sob.

“There,” she pointed. “I engraved a tiny ‘C’ on the inside. It’s there.”

I looked. It was faint, but undeniable. A tiny, scratched ‘C’. The room suddenly felt ice cold. “But… I got this in the mail. No return address. If Chloe was wearing it when she disappeared…”

“Then whoever sent this to you knows what happened to her,” Jessica said, her eyes hardening with a mix of terror and sudden, fierce determination.

Just then, my husband, Mark, walked into the kitchen with a beer in his hand. “What’s with the gloomy faces? It’s a party, isn’t it?”

Jessica looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. “Where did this come from, Mark? Really?”

Mark looked at the bracelet on the table, then at Jessica’s face. For a split second, the mask slipped. His eyes didn’t show confusion like they had when I first asked him; they showed pure panic.

“I told you,” he stammered, his charming smile faltering. “I thought she bought it for herself. Why are we making a big deal out of some cheap jewelry?”

“It’s not cheap,” Jessica snapped, standing up. “And it’s not generic. It’s Chloe’s. And you’re the only one who had access to the mail before [Protagonist’s Name] got home that day.”

My stomach dropped. I remembered something I had brushed off. The package hadn’t been in the mailbox; it was sitting on the kitchen counter when I got home. Mark had been home “sick” that day.

“Mark,” I said slowly, backing away from him. “You said you didn’t send it. But you brought the mail in that day.”

“I… I must have missed it,” he said, taking a step toward me. “Babe, don’t be crazy. It’s a coincidence.”

“It has her initial inside!” Jessica screamed. “The sister you claimed you barely knew!”

Mark lunged for the bracelet, but Jessica was faster. She snatched it up and bolted for the back door, screaming for her husband and my father-in-law. The chaos that followed was a blur of shouting and police sirens.

The investigation unraveled a life I didn’t recognize. They found a box in the back of Mark’s garage, buried under old camping gear. It contained drivers’ licenses, hair clips, and jewelry. One of the items was a necklace belonging to a local girl who had vanished two years prior.

Mark hadn’t sent the package. He had bought me a gift, wrapped it, and left it on the counter. But in his arrogance and disorganized hoarding of “trophies,” he had grabbed the wrong box from his stash. He had accidentally gifted me the bracelet of his first victim—his best friend’s sister.

I’m safe now, living three states away. But sometimes, when I get a package in the mail, I still shake before I open it, terrified of what ghosts might be inside.