Halloween night was quiet for us. While the college town pulsed with bass-heavy music and cheap vodka, Adam and I stayed in, handing out candy to the neighborhood ghosts and goblins. We were blissfully oblivious. We didn’t know that miles away, amidst strobe lights and spilled drinks, my sacred heirloom was being paraded through a bar.

The realization didn’t hit me until the morning of November 1st. The house was still, the autumn sun cutting through the blinds. I wandered into the guest room with a basket of fresh laundry, humming a low tune. I opened the closet door.

The air in the room seemed to vanish.