On one of her final days in the hospital, her hand frail in mine, she whispered, “Daniel… promise me that one day, when Harper walks down the aisle, she’ll wear this. It’s my way of being there with her.”
I promised. And I meant it.
After Margaret passed, I locked the set in a small chest inside my closet. Harper knew about it. When she got older, I told her it was hers for her wedding day. Even after I remarried years later, my new wife, Vanessa, and her adult son, Aaron, knew that this jewelry was sacred. It wasn’t decoration, it wasn’t something to borrow—it was a promise.
Two years ago, I married Vanessa. She had been divorced for a long time and had raised Aaron, who was twenty-one w
