Chapter 3
Clara watched from the background, weeping heavily now, great shuddering breaths tearing through her chest as tears streamed down her face in a relentless flood. She stared intensely at the locket, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and agonizing longing. The gold caught the slanting morning light, casting tiny amber reflections across the pale green walls of the dressing room.
"Where did you see her?" Clara cried out, her voice dropping from a shout to a broken, pleading whisper that tore at Julian’s conscience.
Julian didn't answer Clara immediately. His focus narrowed entirely to the tiny golden trinket resting in his palm. With a steady breath, he pressed the miniature release button. The locket sprang open with a soft, metallic click that sounded unnaturally loud in the silent room. Inside, on the left side, was a faded miniature photograph of Clara’s mother smiling warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. But on the right side, where a mirror or a second photo should have been, there was only a tiny, folded slip of modern paper written in neat, unfamiliar handwriting.
Julian hesitated, his thumb hovering over the paper. He looked up at Victoria, but the little girl had already lowered her gaze back to her white bouquet, her role in this bizarre exchange seemingly complete. Clara took a stumbling step forward, her white lace hem catching briefly on the rug before she freed it with an impatient jerk.
"Give it to me," Clara demanded, her voice trembling violently as she reached out a shaking hand.
May you like
Julian carefully extracted the folded paper without disturbing the photograph of his late mother-in-law. As he unfolded it, he saw a single line of ink written with sharp, precise strokes. It wasn't an old note; the ink was fresh, dark, and distinctly modern. It read: The past is never buried until it is forgiven. Julian frowned, turning the paper over to check for any other signatures or clues, but the back was completely blank.
Clara stopped dead in her tracks a few feet away, her breath catching in her throat as she recognized the handwriting. The color drained entirely from her face, leaving her looking ghostly white against the brilliant white lace of her bridal gown.
