The Unexpected Call
I sent the sofa away, expecting nothing more than fabric repairs and sturdier springs. But the very next afternoon, my phone rang.
It was the repairman. His voice was laced with urgency.
“Ma’am, you’d better come down here. There’s… something you need to see.”
My stomach twisted. Something wrong with the sofa? Maybe it couldn’t be fixed after all.
When I arrived at the small workshop, the smell of varnish and sawdust filled the air. My sofa sat in the middle of the room, its fabric already removed, exposing its wooden frame. The repairman, a grizzled man with kind eyes, motioned me closer.
“I was pulling apart the lining underneath,” he explained, pointing to a section of ripped burlap, “and I found this.”
He reached down and carefully pulled out a small bundle wrapped in faded cloth. My breath caught in my throat. He unfolded it to reveal photographs, a velvet pouch with a gold locket, and a stack of yellowed envelopes tied neatly with ribbon.
