Part 4: The Encounter
I was sitting at my workbench in the back of the shop. The brass bell above the front door chimed, a sharp, clear note that cut through the rhythmic ticking of the showroom.
I looked up from my magnifying loupe.
A little girl in a dripping wet yellow raincoat was struggling to push the heavy oak door closed against the wind. She was entirely alone.
I set down my tweezers, wiped my hands on my apron, and walked out to the front counter.
“Hello there,” I said gently, offering a warm smile to ease the nervousness in her wide, brown eyes. “Where are your parents, sweetheart? It’s pouring out there.”
“My dad is at work,” she said, her voice small but determined. “He fixes cars. But he can’t fix this.”
Mia stood on her tiptoes, hauling the heavy glass Mason jar of coins onto the glass display counter with a loud thud. Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the tarnished brass pocket watch.
She slid it across the glass toward me.
“It’s for my dad’s birthday,” Mia explained, looking at me with absolute, pleading sincerity. “It was his mom’s, but she died. It’s supposed to play sleeping music, but it’s broken. I have forty-two dollars and sixteen cents. Is that enough to fix the music?”
My heart softened. I have always had a soft spot for children, even if being around them is a persistent, dull ache.
“Let me take a look,” I said softly, reaching out to pick up the timepiece.
The moment my fingertips brushed against the cold brass casing, a strange, electric jolt traveled up my arm.
I looked down at the watch.
The intricate, interwoven pattern of celestial stars and moons engraved on the front cover… I knew this pattern.
My breath caught in my throat. The air in the shop suddenly felt incredibly thin.
No, I thought, my mind violently rejecting the impossibility. There are thousands of watches in the world. It’s just a coincidence.
But my hands were already shaking. I turned the watch over. I ran my thumb over the hinge. I knew the exact tension required to pop the back casing.
With trembling fingers, I pried the rear brass panel open, exposing the intricate, microscopic labyrinth of gears, cogs, and the tiny brass cylinder of the music box mechanism.
I didn’t need my jeweler’s loupe. I knew exactly where to look.
Engraved into the baseplate of the mainspring barrel, etched in letters so small they were barely visible to the naked eye, was my personal maker’s mark.
And beneath it, the custom inscription I had carved twenty-five years ago.
For my Leo. Time will never steal my love for you.
The world entirely vanished. The ticking of the hundred clocks in my shop faded into absolute, deafening silence. The ground beneath my feet felt as though it had completely dissolved.
A choked, agonizing gasp ripped from my throat. The heavy brass watch slipped from my paralyzed fingers, clattering loudly against the glass counter.
“Are you okay, lady?” Mia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, stepping back slightly.
Tears—hot, furious, blinding tears—flooded my eyes, spilling down my cheeks in a torrential wave. The dam that had held back twenty-five years of suffocating, unimaginable grief shattered in a fraction of a second.
“Where did you get this?” I demanded, my voice cracking, grabbing the edge of the counter to keep myself from collapsing to the floor. “Sweetheart, please, you have to tell me! Where did you get this watch?!”
Mia looked terrified by my sudden, hysterical reaction. She took another step back toward the door. “I… I took it from my dad’s room. I’m sorry! I just wanted to fix it!”
“Your dad,” I wept, the words barely making it past the agonizing lump in my throat. “What is your dad’s name? How old is he?”
“His name is Jack,” Mia stammered, tears welling up in her own eyes. “He’s turning twenty-six on Friday.”
Twenty-six.
The math was a flawless, devastating strike to my heart. Leo was eight months old when he was taken. He would be twenty-six this week.
I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t care about the shop. I didn’t care about the open register. I sprinted out from behind the counter, falling to my knees in front of the little girl, grasping her small shoulders.
“Mia,” I sobbed, looking directly into her terrified brown eyes. “I am not mad at you. You are not in trouble. You are the bravest, most wonderful little girl in the entire world. But I need you to do something for me. I need you to take me to your dad. Right now.”
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