She Thought It Was Just a Ring. Then It Opened… (2 of 5)

“It wasn’t about style,” Amanda said. “It was about feeling like I was still holding her hand.”

She wore it through college, through marriage, through her first pregnancy and the messy divorce that followed. The ring was chipped in places. A little worn thin on one side. But she never once thought of replacing it. It was her anchor.

But one Tuesday in March, a tiny crack on the band snagged her sweater. She figured it was time to finally have it checked.

“I walked into a little family-run shop on Main Street,” she said. “It wasn’t fancy. Just a bell on the door and a counter full of watches nobody’s wound since 1983.”

The man behind the counter introduced himself as Carl. Silver hair, thick glasses, the kind of old-school jeweller who can tell a 10-karat from an heirloom with just a glance. Amanda handed over the ring, explaining it had been her mother’s and she just wanted it cleaned and repaired.

Carl held it up to the light. Then he brought out a magnifying lens.

Then he stopped speaking altogether.

“I thought maybe he saw something wrong with it,” Amanda recalled. “Maybe it was cracked worse than I thought. But then he started asking questions. What year her mother passed. Where she got the ring. Who gave it to her.”

Amanda’s stomach turned cold. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Carl put the ring down carefully, like it was made of glass. Then he said something Amanda still can’t get out of her head:

“This isn’t just a ring. It’s a locket. And it’s locked from the inside.”