Carefully, I removed the brooch, placed it in a velvet box, and tucked it into my suitcase. I had planned to leave that night, but then an email notification arrived in my inbox.
It was an invitation to the memorial concert for my father’s fifth anniversary.
They wanted me, his only living descendant, to perform his classic pieces.
I hesitated for a moment, considering the timing.
Then, after a moment, I called Sharon Kennedy.
“Would it be all right if I arrived a couple of days later?”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Have you changed your mind?" Sharon asked.
"How could I?" I chuckled softly. "I’ve just got something to take care of."
After a beat, she said, "Alright, I believe you. I’ll wait for you.”
A wave of warmth washed over me.
"Okay," I said softly.
The concert was only two days away.
In the meantime, I didn’t send Nicole any messages.
And, as usual, she didn’t reach out to me either.
I relished the peace, focusing on practicing my father’s music. Though I had it all memorized, I still wanted to present the best version of myself at his memorial concert.
...
That morning, I woke up early.
But when I opened the red velvet box, the brooch was gone.
I froze.