Scant hours ago, she had told him it was over. Told him she couldn’t love him. Told him she was sorry. Tears finally drying in his eyes, he scanned the remains of his former bedchamber for anything salvageable. He paused at the sight of a little cardboard box. He picked it up and looked inside.
He was amazed the box was intact. He’d been carrying it in his pocket for days, but fearing he might lose it, had taken it out and left it in the crypt. The explosion must have blown it off the dresser.
The little gold pendant was nestled safely inside. He held it by the chain and looked at the tiny heart. He’d bought it from his pool hustling winnings. Semi-legitimate earnings. He was going to give it to her when she said she loved him. He felt it, knew it. It was in her touch, sometimes. In her smile, sometimes. He was usually so perceptive. This time, he’d been so wrong.
He would return it to the store, sell it, if he hadn’t had it engraved. Who else would want ‘B & S’ on the back of their pendant? Maybe he could pawn it.
Overwhelmed by angry grief he balled his fist, reaching back to hurl the necklace against the stone wall. He stopped himself, looked down at the palm of his hand, and fought back more tears.
He unclasped the chain and fastened it around his neck, tucking the heart under the front of his shirt. At least he’d have one that wasn’t broken.