I knew I should have gotten rid of it years ago, but the sentimentally attachment was always too strong. Rubbing the blue old leather, I sat on the attic floor trying to convince myself not to open the small square box and just to put it in the charity bag. The image of what lay inside stayed fixed in my mind and I had to give into opening the box.

Laying on dark blue stain was a small heart locket with a matching gold chain. I’d never worn it and maybe no one ever had. It was the type of jewellery you’d give a child, which they’d only wear it on special days. I had no memory of receiving it; just that she had given it to me and it was the only thing I had to remind me of her.

Sighing, I closed the box and put it back in the large storage crate again. Maybe, I’d never be ready to part with it or maybe the fact that it was the only thing left of someone who’d once loved me and that symbolism was too precious to give up.