Chapter 2 The Bracelet's Master

I lowered my head and looked at my wrist.

The bracelet had become tightly wedged against the bone, and the skin beneath it was an angry, glossy red.

After hesitating for a moment, I suggested, "Wendy, maybe we should have someone take the bracelet off so it can be cleaned. It feels like it's been getting tighter lately."

Wendy's hand froze for the briefest instant before a smile returned to her face. "Don't take it off so casually. Dad treasures it more than anything. It's a family heirloom. If it gets damaged, he'll be heartbroken."

"But…"

"Moses, listen to me." She leaned into my arms and looked up at me. "It's just because your wrist is swollen. There's nothing wrong with the bracelet."

Looking into her concerned eyes, I swallowed the rest of my words.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Wendy stood and went to answer it.

A moment later, Chester walked in carrying an insulated food container. "Moses, I made you some nourishing soup."

The moment he stepped inside, his gaze landed on my wrist. "Did you soak it today?"

I quickly got to my feet and nodded. "I just finished. Thank you, Chester."

Chester sat down on the sofa and pulled my hand toward him for a closer look. He first ran his fingers over the obsidian bracelet before turning my wrist over to examine the swollen, inflamed skin beneath it.

He never asked whether it hurt. Instead, his rough thumb traced a slow circle along the edge of the swelling, as though measuring it.

It didn't seem like he was concerned. It felt more like he was inspecting the results of something. But at the time, I made nothing of it.

I only heard him say with satisfaction, "Looks much better than last week. Wendy's been taking good care of you."

Wendy smiled. "I'd never neglect something you entrusted to me, Dad. Moses is my husband. Of course I want to take good care of him."

Chester nodded approvingly before turning back to me. "Moses, this bracelet has been in the family for generations. It recognizes its master. During the first few years after you start wearing it, you're bound to suffer a little."

I blinked. "It can recognize its master?"

My father-in-law smiled kindly. "Of course. Every son-in-law of the Zeigler family has gone through the same thing."

As he spoke, he casually twisted the beads around my wrist. The rough surface scraped across the broken skin, and the sharp pain made my fingers twitch involuntarily.

Wendy immediately rested a hand on my shoulder. "Dad, be gentle. Moses doesn't handle pain well."

Chester chuckled. "A grown man shouldn't be bothered by a little pain. If it hurts, that only proves the bracelet has accepted you."

Then he ladled out a steaming bowl of rich soup and handed it to me. "Drink up. I added some real good stuff this time. They're good for building your strength and replenishing your blood. Men work hard out there. You must take care of your health."

I accepted the bowl, warmth spreading through my heart. My father-in-law cared about me, and my wife cherished me—I felt incredibly fortunate.

Chester watched until I finished every drop. His eyes drifted back to the bracelet once more. "Moses, once this goes on your wrist, you must never take it off lightly. That's the Zeigler rule—as long as the bracelet remains, so does the man."

His voice remained gentle, yet for some reason it sent an inexplicable chill down my spine. But that strange chill disappeared almost immediately, washed away by the overwhelming sense of belonging I felt.

I simply assumed it was one of the old traditions the older generation valued and smiled as I nodded. "Got it, Chester."

Back then, I had no idea that when he said, "As long as the bracelet remains, so does the man," he was not talking about a family rule.

…

Zane Larson's newly opened antique and jewelry appraisal studio was located in an office building downtown.

Wendy drove me there herself.

Before I got out of the car, she carefully straightened my tie.

"Did your wrist still hurt?" Her gaze fell to the section of the obsidian bracelet peeking out from beneath my cuff, her expression as gentle as ever.

I shook my head. "It felt much better."

"Don't stay out too long. You men always lose track of time once you start chatting." She lightly patted my chest. "Call me when you're done. I'll come pick you up."

"All right. Drive safely." I smiled, kissed her on the forehead, and stepped out of the car.

She rolled down the window, still looking worried. "I put the ointment in your briefcase. If it starts itching, go to the restroom and put some on. Don't scratch it."

My heart softened. For all six years of our marriage, she had always cared for me with that same meticulous tenderness.