For the first time that day, I almost smiled.
She showed me the bathroom attached to his bedroom.
Everything had been modified.
Handrails.
Mechanical lift.
Wide shower.
A padded bathing chair.
The kind of equipment that cost more than my apartment building.
When Mrs. Alvarez finally left us alone, silence filled the room.
Mr. Bennett watched me organize towels.
“You’ve never done this before.”
“No.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“Why is that good?”
“People who aren’t nervous usually hurt me.”
I swallowed.
That answer revealed more than he probably intended.
I approached carefully.
“I need to help you remove your shirt.”
“I’m aware.”
I began with the top button.
My fingers trembled.
Not because of him.
Because somewhere across Chicago, Brandon was still sick.
Because I had twelve dollars left in my purse.
Because if I lost this job, I had no idea what came next.
The first button opened.
Then the second.
An old scar crossed Mr. Bennett’s shoulder.
The third button revealed the thin silver chain around his neck.
I barely noticed it at first.
Then the pendant slipped free.
A small oval locket.
Silver.
Scratched along one edge.
Two initials engraved across the front.
R.M.
Everything inside me stopped.
The towel fell from my hand.
Mr. Bennett looked down.
Then back at me.
“What?”
My knees gave out.
I caught the edge of the sink.
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“What is it?”
I stared at the locket.
There was no possibility of mistake.
I knew the tiny dent near the clasp.
I knew the uneven engraving.
I knew the mark on the back where a child had once scratched a crooked star with the tip of a sewing needle.
I had held that locket in my hands when I was nineteen years old.
It had belonged to my older brother.
Ryan Morgan.
The brother I had buried seventeen years earlier.
Or believed I had buried.
“Where did you get that?” I whispered.
Mr. Bennett’s face became perfectly still.
“Get what?”
“The locket.”
His hand instinctively moved toward it.
I stepped closer.
“That belonged to my brother.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re mistaken.”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“No, I’m not.”
He closed his shirt.
“Leave.”
“What?”
“I said leave.”
I stared at him.
“Tell me where you got it.”
“Your shift is over.”
