The shovel bit into the earth with a satisfying thud. Sarah, knee deep in her late grandmother’s rose garden, hummed a tuneless melody as she worked. Sunlight warmed her face, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead. She’d always loved this spot, the scent of roses a constant comfort. The rusted metal of what she thought was an old bird feeder clinked against the spade. Curious, she set the shovel aside and knelt, carefully brushing away the loose soil. It wasn’t a feeder. It was a box, old and wrapped in thick plastic. She didn't recognize it.
Opening the box felt strange. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper, was a collection of trinkets: a smooth, grey stone, a tarnished silver locket, and a faded photograph of a girl with bright, laughing eyes. Her own eyes widened as she stared at the photograph, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She recognized the girl. It was her, many years ago.
The unexpected discovery didn't faze her. She carefully lifted each item, turning it over in her hands, a gentle expression softening her features. The stone, perfectly round, felt cool and reassuring. She had absolutely no recollection of ever burying it, but felt a sense of familiarity, as if it were a memory she'd simply misplaced.