Mara set the coffee pot down with a clatter. Her mind spun. If there were three, tracing one of them didn’t guarantee she’d find hers. She could spend months, years even, following the wrong pendant, chasing a shadow while the real one slipped further from her grasp.
Worse still was the thought she couldn’t push away—that maybe her necklace was gone forever. Sold for rent money. Left behind in a move. Traded for a handful of bills. She pictured it resting in a stranger’s drawer, its story erased, its meaning and value stripped bare.