A teen girl tried to steal a book from our store

“That brooch,” she says, almost to herself, “belonged to my daughter.”

My heart skips, and I feel a chill crawl up my spine.

“Your… daughter?” I repeat.

She nods, her eyes glistening now, though she fights to keep her composure. “She died three years ago.”

I feel like the floor beneath me tilts, reality shifting in a way that doesn’t quite make sense. continue reading …