Margaret said nothing. Her hand shook as she straightened and lifted a thin finger toward the wall.
Above the Carrara marble fireplace hung a massive family portrait—Ethan and Claire smiling, hands entwined. Beneath the ornate gold frame, half-hidden by shadow, was something that didn’t belong.
A small, dull-gold locket.
Ethan’s heart slammed as real fear replaced the act. “What… what is that?” he rasped.
Claire’s face drained of color. Sweat beaded at her temple.
Margaret stepped closer, breath uneven. “Mr. Caldwell…” Her voice cracked as if something inside her refused to stay buried.
Claire moved fast, grabbing for Margaret’s arm. “Stop it! He’s sick—help him!” she snapped.
Margaret pulled away.
The locket glinted silently. Ethan forced himself upright and crawled toward the fireplace. Claire tried to block him, her calm gone, replaced by raw panic.
“Margaret, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Claire hissed.
Ignoring her, Ethan picked up the locket. It was heavier than it looked, engraved with oak leaves. On the back was a date: 1972.
“What is this, Claire?” he asked, his voice stripped of warmth.
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Just an old trinket. You should lie down.”