Inside the folded paper was a small velvet pouch. I opened it and immediately recognized my mother’s gold charm bracelet—the one that had disappeared from my bedroom almost eight months earlier. I had searched everywhere for it, eventually convincing myself I must have misplaced it while sorting Mom’s belongings after her death. Carol had even helped me look. Now the bracelet was sitting in my hand, wrapped beside a pawn-shop receipt bearing Carol’s name. The receipt showed she had tried to sell it months earlier, but the shop refused the transaction because she could not provide convincing proof that it belonged to her.
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