I shook my head.
“He could
have just told me he was saving for my future.”
“Yes,” Frank replied. “He could have.”
There was no excuse in his voice. No attempt to pretend my childhood had been perfect.
Then he pointed toward the velvet pouch.
“There’s something else.”
I opened it.
Inside was a small gold necklace.
I recognized it immediately.
It had belonged to my mother.
After she died, I’d searched everywhere for it. I’d asked Dad about it several times, but he always said he didn’t know where it was.
Now I was holding it in my palm.
A second note was folded beneath it.
“Your mother wanted you to have this when you were old enough to understand what it meant. I kept it safe because I was afraid of losing the last thing she had worn every day.”
My eyes filled with tears.
