Questioned ownership
“Yes, of course, it’s mine. Why wouldn’t it be?” I said, trying to sound confident. But the jeweler didn’t laugh.
His expression remained serious, almost grave. His eyes, now sharp and focused, seemed to dig into the very fabric of my assurances.
His refusal to ease the tension only made my palms sweat more. Something was clearly out of place, and I needed to figure out what it was.