Breathless Embrace in the Empty Hall
I stepped off the stage, the red fabric still warm against my skin, and the muffled snickers faded into the hallway’s stale air.
Mom was already there, her hands trembling as if they’d been holding a live wire.
“Callum,” she whispered, and the world narrowed to the space between us.
I threw my arms around her, feeling the thud of her heart over my shoulder, the same rhythm that had once steadied my sister’s breaths.
Her cheek brushed my cheek, and for a heartbeat I could almost hear Iris’s laugh echoing in the corridor.
“I kept it hidden,” Maya said, voice raw, “your sister’s locket. I was scared you’d never wear it.”
My stomach clenched. The locket—a tiny silver heart that had hung around Iris’s neck until the night she slipped away—had been buried beneath the stage curtains, a secret I thought lost forever.
“Mom, why?” I asked, the question hanging like a weight.
She pressed the cool metal against my palm, her thumb tracing the engraved initials: I & C.
“She asked me to hold it until you were ready,” Maya replied, eyes glistening. “She said it would keep you brave when the world turns its back.”
I felt a surge of guilt and gratitude, the kind that made my throat tighten.
“She trusted me,” I whispered, the memory of her hospital whisper—“Promise me you’ll wear it for me.”
“And you did,” Maya smiled, tears spilling onto the polished floor.
My mind raced—she’d hidden it, fearing I’d never dare to wear it. Yet here I was, dressed in her sister’s final wish, the locket waiting in the seam of the dress.
