It was my estranged younger brother, Henry. I hadn’t laid eyes on the same brother in nearly half a century.
Henry and I grew up in the same house, had the same challenges, and adored the same mother. But life had dragged us apart. A heated disagreement over an inheritance, harsh words, and years of quiet had turned us into strangers. When I saw him now, standing there with the same piercing green eyes as our mother, I was filled with astonishment, fury, and a weird, yearning need.
“Henry,” I muttered, barely getting the word out.
He appeared as startled as I was. “Margaret?” he said, edging closer, his voice weak. “I… I can’t believe it.”
We stood there staring at one another, with the pendant still in my palm. The shopkeeper, noticing the tension, took a discreet step back to give us room.
“What are you doing here?” I eventually inquired, my tone laced with the sting of previous wounds.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, staring at the pendant. “I saw it through the window, and it reminded me of her.” “Of Mom.”
I tightened my grasp on the pendant, feeling a flash of protective instinct. “Well, it’s mine now,” I declared firmly. “I was about to buy it.”
He groaned and ran his hand through his silvery hair. Margaret, please. I have been seeking information about her for years. You understand how much she meant to me. “Let me have it.”
I stared at him, feeling an old anger resurface. “How much did she mean to you?” You vanished, Henry. You disappeared without a word, just when she needed us most. And now you appear unexpectedly, anticipating that I will simply surrender this item.
He looked down, humiliation on his face. “I know I wounded you. I realize I let everyone down. As a young, foolish man, I had no idea how to handle it. Leaving was the worst mistake of my life, and I’ve regretted it ever since.
His comments soothed me, but I wasn’t ready to let go of years of hatred. “Regret doesn’t change what happened,” I explained gently.
“I know,” he said. “But perhaps this is fate’s way of giving us the opportunity to make things right. Mom would not want us to stay like this, Margaret. She’d want us to forgive one another. “To remember her together.”
As I glanced at the pendant, tears filled my eyes. More than jewelry, it symbolized everything we lost and could gain. I slowly stretched the pendant toward him.
He shakes his head. “No. You discovered it first. It is yours.
I paused and then smiled sweetly. “Then let us share it. You keep it for six months; I take the rest. That way, we each get a piece of her.
His face brightened up, and for the first time in decades, I recognized the brother I once adored. “That sounds perfect,” he remarked.
We left the shop together, catching up on all we had missed in each other’s lives. Years of pain did not go away, but it felt as if we were finally beginning to heal. At that moment, I knew Mom would have been proud.