The guard froze.
Mom opened it.
Inside were photographs of two children, a boy around seven and a little girl.
The guard’s face drained of color.
“Where… where did you get that?”
He fell silent.
Mom said nothing.
He leaned closer, trembling. “Oh my God… No… This can’t be.”
Then he started crying.
I stared at the photographs.
Because the little girl looked exactly like me at three years old.
But why would a stranger recognize a photograph of me that I’d never seen before?
Photographs of two children.
“What’s happening?” I demanded.
Mom snapped the locket shut.
“Claire, take me home.”
The guard whispered, “Please, I need to know…”
“You need to apologize,” I interrupted.
He looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”
The little girl looked exactly like me.
“Get your manager,” I told the guard.
Patricia arrived minutes later.
