I needed to know where he’d gotten it, but not in front of Tyler — not yet. “Tyler said you like old things,” I said. Tyler frowned. “I did?” “I thought you did.” Noah laughed awkwardly. “I guess?” “I have something downstairs you might like.” Tyler, confused, went to grab drinks from the fridge, and I led Noah toward the basement stairs. Each step down felt heavier than the last.
The moment the door closed behind us, I couldn’t wait any longer. “Where did you get that necklace?” He touched it. “This? My dad gave it to me.” My heart started pounding. “Your father — what’s his name?” His smile disappeared. “Michael.”
I pulled the basement door shut and turned the key.
Noah grabbed the handle from the other side immediately. “Mrs. Diane?” “We’re calling the police,” I said through the door, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’ll explain everything.” “Why did you lock me in here?” Footsteps came running from the kitchen — Tyler, holding two sodas, staring at the locked door, then at me. “What are you doing?” “I need to make a phone call.” “Why is Noah locked in our basement?” Noah shouted through the door: “I haven’t done anything!” “I know,” I called back. Tyler looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Then why are you calling the police?”
I went to the cabinet, pulled out an old photo album, hands shaking as I flipped through it. I found the picture — Michael at twenty-two, standing beside my father at a barbecue, both squinting into the sun, the silver pendant clearly visible against his shirt. I handed it to Tyler. “Your uncle.” “I know who Uncle Michael is.” “Look at his neck.” Tyler’s eyes dropped to the photo, then flicked to the basement door, then back. “No.” “That’s Dad’s necklace. There’s a scratch along the bottom — same one Noah’s wearing. And Noah has a birthmark behind his left ear. So did Michael.” Tyler went pale. “Mom…” “He told me his father’s name is Michael.”
Silence, until Noah’s voice came muffled through the door. “Tyler, what is happening?” Tyler turned to me. “Open the door.” I hesitated. “Mom — if you’re right, Noah still hasn’t done anything wrong.” That landed. He was right.
I unlocked the door. Noah came upstairs frightened and furious, moving straight for Tyler. “What is wrong with your mom?” “I don’t know yet.” “I told her my dad’s name and she locked me in a basement!” “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re sorry?” “I panicked.” “That’s not an explanation.” I held out the photograph. “This is.” He wouldn’t take it, so Tyler did, holding it up beside Noah’s face. Noah finally looked. His expression changed. “Who’s that?” “My uncle Michael,” Tyler said. Noah stared harder. “Why does he look like my dad?”
