"It was perfect," he said. "Until she opened her mouth."
I looked at him. "What are we going to do? We can't lose our home."
"I'm so sorry,"
He walked over and hugged me.
When he pulled back, there was something different in his eyes.
Something older.
"Wait here," he said. "I have something to give you."
He disappeared down the hallway toward his bedroom.
I heard a drawer open, then close.
When he returned, he was carrying something I hadn't seen in eight years.
"I have something to give you."
Our mother's jewelry box.
The wood was darker than I remembered, worn smooth in the places where her fingers used to rest.
My breath caught in my throat.
"Where did you find that?" I asked.
"I've had it for a while," he said carefully.
"Where did you find that?"
"How long?"
"Long enough."
He placed it in my hands.
