The adoption agency smelled of lemon cleaner and quiet desperation. She filled out the forms with shaking hands, each question slicing her a little deeper. They asked if she wanted to leave something for the baby. Most mothers left blankets, stuffed animals—tokens of a life they could not give, probably. Mara reached for the only thing that held a little worth in her life.
She took off the necklace and held it for a moment. The pendant felt warmer than usual, as though it understood what was happening. She whispered a promise she could barely form—that someday, somehow, she might see it again, and through it, find the child she was losing.