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pulled the old shoebox from the back of my closet.

Inside, wrapped in an old scarf, was the antique necklace.

I didn’t have the money.

Ellen, my grandmother, had given it to me before she passed. I was barely old enough to understand what it meant back then, but I held onto it, anyway. I’d kept it safe for over two decades as a reminder of her love.

Through continue reading …

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