It was made of delicate silver, worn dull with age. A small heart-shaped charm hung from the clasp, chipped slightly along one edge.
A flaw I would recognize anywhere.
My hands began to tremble before my mind could even process what I was seeing.
The sounds around me—the buzzing fluorescent lights of the charity clinic, the muffled conversations in the hallway—faded into nothing.
All that remained was the bracelet.
And the little girl wearing it.
“Where did you get that?” I asked quietly.
My voice barely worked.
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