The flash of gold under harsh hospital lights was the last thing I expected to see while recovering from a broken leg. Weeks of pain medication and frustration had blurred the days together, but the moment my eyes landed on the bracelet around Nurse Stephanie’s wrist, everything snapped into focus. I recognized it instantly. The fine chain, the worn shine—and most of all, the tiny engraved smiley face on the clasp. It was my grandmother’s bracelet, an heirloom I had searched for desperately before accepting it was gone for good.
Seeing it there felt like the floor dropped out from under me.
During my stay, Stephanie had been kind and attentive. We talked often, passing time with small stories about life outside the hospital. She frequently mentioned her new boyfriend, describing him as thoughtful and romantic. Just a month earlier, she said, he had surprised her with a “vintage” bracelet. As she checked my IV, the timing hit me all at once. A month ago was when my bracelet disappeared. It was also when my husband, Toby, had been home more than usual between work trips.
I tried to stay calm, casually complimenting the bracelet and asking where her boyfriend found it. When she said he claimed it came from a boutique, my stomach tightened. I didn’t accuse her. Instead, with shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and showed her a photo. “This is my husband,” I said quietly.
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