Tears stung her eyes as she spoke of the necklace—how she’d thought it was worthless, how she’d hoped it would be a bridge if he ever wanted to find her. “I thought I had nothing to give you,” she whispered. “But I did. I just didn’t know it.” Perhaps nobody in the family did.
She told him how she’d found out about its value, accidentally. His hand rested on the table, and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached for it. He said quietly, “Even without it, I would have wanted to know you.” The words cracked something open in her, and she felt years of guilt begin to loosen.