I knew that scratch.
When I was little, I’d sat on my father’s lap and traced it with my fingertip while he told me stories about the places he’d traveled.
Slowly, I turned the watch over.
The engraving was still there.
**Tom. Come home to us. Love always, June.**
I collapsed into the chair.
My father’s watch.
The watch we’d searched for twenty-two years earlier.
The watch we’d believed was lost forever.
It was sitting in my hands.
And it was ticking.
“Mike,” I whispered. “This is my dad’s watch.”
He came around the desk.
“I know, Rachel.”
“We looked everywhere. Mom and I searched the roadside. It disappeared after the accident.”
My voice cracked.
“How did that woman get it?”
Mike gently handed me the letter.
“I think you’ll find the answer here.”
Then he brought me a cup of water.
He told me to take all the time I needed.
And when he stepped into the hallway, I heard him instruct the others not to disturb me.
I unfolded the letter.
The first line read:
**Dear Rachel,**
*My name is Maya Brooks. I’m thirty-six years old, and when I was fourteen, your father changed my life.*
