When my mother-in-law died, I was happy. I felt relief. She never liked me. Never once gave me a gift or said a kind word. At the memorial, my husband handed me a small box and said, “She asked me to give you this on her funeral day”. Inside was a silver necklace I’d never seen before, with a tiny sapphire pendant.
I blinked, confused. “Are you sure this is for me?”
He nodded. “She was very clear. Said you should open it today. Alone.”
That last word struck me. Alone. I waited until we got home. After all the guests left and our son was asleep, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the necklace. It looked old, maybe vintage. The pendant was shaped like a teardrop. On the back, barely visible, were two initials: L.T.
My initials.
