The parents, equally bewildered, examined the locket closely. It was ornate, clearly aged, and bore intricate engravings that were too faded to read. The mother’s breath caught as recognition dawned on her.
“I’ve seen this before,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It belonged to my grandmother. But I thought it was lost years ago.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the discovery hanging over them. The father, trying to piece together the puzzle, asked, “How did it end up in Mr. Pickles?”
