"A bluebell bracelet. Rare thing, you know? I wouldn't even know the name if someone hadn't mentioned it." Mike tossed out casually.
Her face slowly fell apart.
"No, that can't be..." she whispered to herself.
"What can't be?" Mike teased lightly.
She didn't respond, just fumbled for her phone, hesitating over my contact.
The reason for her shock was clear to me.
The bluebell bracelet was our promise to each other.
When we got engaged, exchanging gifts was a must.
She'd bought that bracelet on the cheap, just to tick the box.
It merely cost her about five bucks.
I never cared about the cost; I treasured it and wore it every day.
Folks used to laugh at me, a rich guy with a plastic bracelet, but I'd tell them straight,
"You don't understand, it's a symbol of our love!"
And that's why that bracelet struck such a chord with her.
"It's not him, his car wasn't gray," she blurted out suddenly.
True, my car was red.
But the day before yesterday, after she mentioned red was garish during her dad's birthday planning, I swapped it for a gray one at the dealership.
The crash happened just after I drove off the lot.
She hadn't known, of course.
They pulled up at her father's place.