"Do you still have the bracelet?"
My hand instinctively moved toward my purse.
I carried it with me more often than I cared to admit.
When I handed it to her, she stared at it for several seconds before tears filled her eyes.
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"That never belonged to a dead baby," she whispered.
My breath caught.
Nora gently turned the faded plastic bracelet over in her hands.
"It belonged to the daughter who was taken."
All these years, I thought I was carrying a reminder of her death.
I had actually been carrying proof of her life.
Every word felt like another blow.
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For years, I had mourned a child who wasn't dead.
I had trusted people who had stolen her from me.
Then Olivia asked the question neither of us wanted answered.
"Who started it?"
Nora hesitated.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
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Because suddenly I understood there was one final piece missing.
