I found the block of ice on my porch before sunrise.

It was nearly two feet long, thick as a concrete brick, cloudy through the center, and already melting across the wooden boards.

At first, I assumed it was some kind of cruel joke.

Teenagers got bored. Neighbors could be strange. And grief had taught me that my mind was capable of imagining a thousand unpleasant explanations.

Then I noticed something dark trapped inside.

My neighbor, Mr. Callahan, came through the opening in the hedge between our yards after I messaged him.

“What is that?” he asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

We crouched beside the ice and scraped at the surface until the shape became clearer.

It was a watch.

Black strap.

Dark face.

Scratches along the clasp.

My stomach dropped.

“I know that watch.”

Mr. Callahan inhaled sharply.

When I looked at him, his face had gone pale.