Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia's chest. She’d been staring at the unopened package for an hour, the cardboard box a silent, accusing presence on her kitchen table. It was addressed to "Mr. Alistair Finch," a name she didn't recognize, but the address was definitely hers. She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture she'd adopted since… well, since everything. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the box cutter, the metal cold against her trembling fingers.
The flaps sprung open, revealing a velvet-lined box. Inside, nestled on satin, was a silver locket. It was intricately carved, depicting a pair of intertwined swans. Amelia lifted it, the weight of it settling in her palm. A tiny, almost imperceptible click echoed as she opened it. Two miniature photographs stared back at her: a man with kind eyes and a woman with a smile that mirrored her own current pain.
She dropped the locket back into the box, her breath catching in her throat. The photographs had a familiar air that stirred up bitter memories. The connection, the coincidence—it was more than she could handle. A wave of nausea washed over her. She stumbled back from the table, needing to get away from the box, from the ghosts it carried.