Chapter 2

A few days later, I was at the local farmers market.

The air smelled like fresh bread and strawberries.

I was picking out vegetables, thinking about healthy meals.

The locket was tucked under my shirt.

"A beautiful piece."

A man's voice, low and gravelly.

I turned.

He was older, dressed in a slightly old-fashioned suit.

His eyes were sharp.

He gestured to the locket, which must have peeked out.

"An antique, I presume?"

"Yes," I said, a little surprised. "A gift from a friend."

He nodded slowly. "Mr. Alistair Blackwood," he introduced himself, offering a thin hand. "I deal in such items."

He was the antique dealer Chloe had mentioned. The one she "discovered."

"Chloe said you have unique things," I said, trying to be polite.

"Indeed." His eyes lingered on my locket. "That particular style... they were often made with strong intentions."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping.

"Such lockets, if not properly cleansed, can be vessels of sorrow. They hold residual energy from past tragedies."

A chill went down my spine.

"Tragedies?"

"Often connected to child loss," he said, his gaze heavy. "They were sometimes believed to... rebalance fates."

I didn't understand. "Rebalance fates?"

"One life falters," he said softly, "so another might flourish."

My hand instinctively went to my stomach.

He looked at me pointedly.

"Your friend," he said. "The one who gifted it. Has she been... seeking good fortune in that area?"

Chloe. Her struggles. Her recent announcement she was "trying again with a new holistic approach."

"She... she's been trying to conceive," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Blackwood nodded gravely. "Wear it with care. Or perhaps, not at all."

He gave a small, unsettling smile and then melted into the market crowd.

I stood there, stunned.

Vessels of sorrow. Rebalance fates.

It sounded insane.

But Chloe had been so insistent I wear it. Constantly.

She'd given it to me right after her latest IVF failed.

Was it just a coincidence?

I tried to shake it off.

He was just an eccentric old man trying to sell his "cleansing" services, probably.

But his words stuck.

A seed of unease planted itself deep inside me.

That evening, Michael noticed I was quiet.

"Everything okay, honey?"

"Just tired," I lied.

I didn't mention Blackwood.

I didn't want to sound crazy.

But when I took off the locket before my shower, I felt a strange sense of relief.

Then, a pang of guilt.

It was a gift from Chloe. My best friend.