He finally let go of her hand and came over to wrap his arm around me. Cold lips brushed my temple like an insult.
Margaret didn’t say anything. Just pulled a velvet box from her clutch and handed it to me with that soft, patronizing smile that never quite touched her eyes. I opened it slowly, standing near the glass railing, the dark waves of the river shimmering below.
Inside was a silver hairpin. Delicate. Etched. Familiar. My mother’s. Not just any pin—the pin. Slightly burned. The one with our family crest, with a hidden blade in the stem. She wore it the day she died. The same day Margaret burned her alive.
I couldn’t speak and my fingers curled around the box.
“Where... Where did you get this?”
Margaret blinked, playing her part. “Harmony… I found it in a tiny estate sale on the East End. I thought it was pretty. I didn’t know it meant something to you.”
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
“I’m not,” she said, eyes glassy now. “I thought… I just wanted to give you something special. It's your anniversary. I wanted to be happy for you.”
I stepped forward. “You knew exactly what this was. You knew.”