Chapter 3 - THE SILVER LOCKET
The family lounge at two in the morning was empty, save for a vending machine humming in the corner and a single lamp casting a warm glow over a worn leather sofa.
Ethan and I sat across from each other. The silence between us wasn't peaceful; it was heavy with unspoken words, regret, and the ghost of a future we had abandoned.
"Harper is going to be fine," I said first, defaulting to my professional instincts to break the ice. "The splint comes off in two weeks. Just make sure she doesn't do any gymnastics on the living room rug."
Ethan offered a faint, tired smile. He ran a hand through his hair, finally looking at me with the raw vulnerability I remembered from the nights we spent talking until dawn in my apartment.
"She asks about you, you know," Ethan whispered.
I blinked in surprise. "About me? Ethan, we only met a few times before we broke things off. I barely spent an afternoon with her."
"She remembers every single one of them," Ethan said softly. He reached into the deep pocket of his slacks and pulled out a small, tarnished silver object. He set it carefully on the coffee table between us.
It was a small heart-shaped locket on a delicate chain.
My breath caught in my throat. I recognized it instantly. It was my mother’s locket—the one I had accidentally left on the kitchen counter of Ethan’s apartment the night we had our final, bitter argument.
"You kept it," I murmured.
"I couldn't throw it away," Ethan said, his voice thick with emotion. "Every time I looked at it, I remembered the way you looked when you wore it. And every time Harper saw it sitting on my nightstand, she asked when the kind doctor with the warm hands was coming back to see us."
He pushed the locket slightly closer to me. When it slid across the glass table, the tiny clasp popped open.
Inside wasn't a picture of me.
It was a faded, folded piece of Polaroid paper.
Curiosity overriding my caution, I reached out and carefully unfolded the tiny photograph.
The image showed a young woman with dark curly hair—resembling mine, but older—holding a newborn infant wrapped in a pink blanket on the steps of a brick building. Etched into the bottom border of the photo in faded blue ink was a date: October 14, 1998.
And stamped on the back of the Polaroid was the official logo of Mercy General Hospital's adoption and maternity wing.
My hands began to tremble.
"Ethan... what is this? Where did you get this?"
"My father left it to me in a safety deposit box three days ago," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Along with a letter that completely turned my world upside down. That's why I was rushing Harper to this hospital tonight, Serena. I wasn't just bringing her for her wrist. I was looking for answers."
Before I could ask what kind of answers, a sharp beep echoed from the hallway, followed by the PA system calling an emergency code.
Then, the door to the family lounge swung wide open.
Standing in the doorway was hospital administrator Lillian Vance, flanked by two armed security guards.
May you like
Her eyes locked onto the silver locket resting on the coffee table between us.
"Mr. Carter," Lillian said coldly, her voice ringing with false authority. "I suggest you put that locket back in your pocket and step away from Dr. Brooks. You have no business digging into hospital archives that were sealed before you were old enough to drive."
