“Yes, they’re mine! But I’m…” she paused, eyes wide as she stared at the earrings in my palm, her breath catching in her throat. “But I’m not supposed to have them anymore.”

Her hands hovered over the delicate gold hoops encrusted with tiny emeralds, trembling slightly. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply held them out to her.

“They were under the table,” I said, quietly. “Must have slipped off when you took your coat off.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she gently took the earrings, her fingers cold and damp against my skin. For a long moment, she just stood there, staring down at the jewelry as though she didn’t recognize it, despite claiming them as hers.

Then she looked up at me, her expression guarded but troubled.

“You didn’t… mention them to anyone, did you?” she asked, voice hushed.

“No,” I replied, puzzled. “Should I have?”

She shook her head too quickly, too forcefully. “No, no. I just—thank you. Thank you for finding them. You have no idea how much these mean to me.”

But something about the way she said it didn’t sit right.

Her name was Vanessa Harrow—a woman of elegance, charm, and the kind of wealth that left traces on everything she touched. She’d been my client for almost two years, always arriving in her black town car, always with her perfectly manicured hands, her designer bags, her flawless posture. She was polite, warm even, but never personal. She tipped well and rarely lingered beyond the appointment.

That day, though, she stayed.

After taking the earrings, she sat down in the styling chair, glancing around my small studio like it was the first time she was really seeing it. Then, just when I thought she was about to leave, she said, “Can I ask you something… strange?”

I nodded, leaning against the counter.

“Have you ever found something that didn’t belong to anyone? Something you weren’t supposed to find?”

It was an odd question. I told her about a time I found a watch wedged behind a shampoo bowl, long after the client who lost it had stopped coming. But she didn’t seem to be listening.

“I wasn’t supposed to find these again,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “They were taken.”

I tilted my head. “Taken? Like stolen?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Months ago. During a… situation.” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

I didn’t press her. But the silence grew thick.

Finally, she said, “They were a gift. From someone… who isn’t in my life anymore. A man I loved. He was married.”

I wasn’t sure where this was going.

“His wife found out,” she continued, looking down at the earrings again. “She confronted me at an event—no scene, just quiet threats. And a week later, these earrings disappeared from my safe. I thought she had them taken. Or maybe he did, to protect her. I never knew. But they vanished.”

“So how…?”

She looked up, meeting my eyes. “That’s what I don’t understand. I haven’t worn them in nearly a year. I haven’t even seen them. I thought they were gone for good. But now they turn up under your table, just after my appointment?”

A chill prickled my skin.

I tried to think logically. “Could they have fallen out of your bag? Maybe you had them with you without realizing.”

She gave a sad, tired laugh. “I haven’t carried that bag in months.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then she stood, placing the earrings delicately back into her clutch.

“I shouldn’t keep them,” she said. “But I can’t give them up again.”

As she turned to leave, I asked, “Do you think someone wanted you to find them?”

She paused at the door, her hand on the knob. “Or someone wanted to remind me.”

I never saw Vanessa Harrow again.

A few weeks later, a man came into the salon—not as a client, but as someone asking questions. Private investigator, he claimed. He showed me a photo of Vanessa. She’d gone missing.

I told him the truth. About the earrings. About the strange way she’d acted.

He listened, nodded, and thanked me.

But that night, when I locked up and turned off the lights, I noticed something on the floor by the styling chair—where Vanessa had sat.

A single emerald.

And I wasn’t sure if I was meant to find it.