Thousands of women knew how to sew.
Boston wasn’t so small that two strangers couldn’t end up with something that looked almost identical.
I forced myself to look away.
I refused to believe an old keychain could drag 22 years back into my kitchen.
I walked into the kitchen, gripped the sink, and tried to steady myself. Because 22 years earlier, I’d sewn one exactly like it for the only man I’d ever planned to marry.
His name was Richard.
I couldn’t afford the birthday gift he wanted, so I sewed him a tiny blue teddy bear from scraps of felt. One button came from an old cardigan, the other from my grandmother’s sewing tin.
He clipped it onto his backpack that same day and carried it everywhere, joking it was his good-luck charm.
I hadn’t seen that little bear since the day we said goodbye.
“Dad?”
Stormy’s voice pulled me back.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, studying me.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Mom…”
She stepped closer.
“Did something happen?”
I forced a smile.
“No.”
“You recognized him.”
“I recognized someone he reminded me of.”
She folded her arms.
“An old boyfriend?”
I laughed quietly.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’ve had exactly one expression for the last five minutes.”
“What expression?”
“The one where you’re somewhere else.”
