Dark hair.S. pulled back.
Sunburned shoulders.
I had never seen her before.
That should have stopped me.
It didn’t.
I reached her and caught her arm.
“Where did you get that bag?”
She jerked away.
“Excuse me?”
“That bag.”
My voice was shaking.
“I made it. I made that bag for my daughter sixteen years ago.”
For a moment, she just stared.
People moved around us.
A stroller squeaked past.
Someone shouted for a child.
The entire world continued as mine narrowed to that bag.
Then I realized I was still touching her.
I released her immediately.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”
Her irritation softened into concern.
“You said you made this?”
“Yes.”
I pointed toward the stitching.
“There’s a mistake near the bottom.”
She looked.
“That row. I tried to fix it and made it worse.”
The woman turned the bag over.
The mistake was still there.
Then she asked quietly, “What was your daughter’s name?”
My throat tightened.
“Gia.”
Something changed in her face.
Barely.
But after sixteen years of studying strangers for reactions, I noticed.
“You know that name.”
She swallowed.
“I’ve heard it.”
My heart began hammering.
“Where?”
She glanced toward the ocean.
“I think we should sit down.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Tell me where you got the bag.”
She finally nodded toward a nearby bench.
“I bought it.”
“Where?”
“A thrift store.”
“When?”
She hesitated.
“Maybe fourteen years ago.”
I had to sit down.
Fourteen years.
That meant the bag had changed hands roughly two years after Gia vanished.
“Where was the store?”
“Virginia. Somewhere near Richmond, I think. My sister lived there then.”
“Was anything inside?”
She hesitated again.
That frightened me.
“What was inside?”
“Nothing important.”
“Please don’t decide what’s important.”
The woman closed her eyes briefly.
“My name is Dana.”
I waited.
“There was an old receipt. A hair tie. Sand in the bottom.”
“The keychain?”
“It was already attached.”
I reached toward it without touching.
Sixteen years had darkened the brass.
But every scratch looked familiar.
“That was Gia’s.”
Dana nodded.
“I assumed it belonged to whoever donated the bag.”
