We met days later in a small café lit with holiday lights. Time had changed us, but his eyes were the same. We spoke of our lives and finally of the silence between us. He explained that shame over his father’s actions had driven him away, believing I deserved better. He searched for me years later, but my married name led nowhere.

Before leaving, he placed something in my hand—the locket I lost in high school. He had kept it all these years. We didn’t try to rewrite the past, only to see what might still be possible.At sixty-two, with an old locket and new hope, I find myself ready to open a door I thought was long closed.