Now, it felt different in my hands—heavier, warmer, like it knew what I was about to do.
Too beautiful for the life I was living.
“I’m sorry, Nana,” I whispered. “I just need a little time. Maybe this will give me one more month.”
I cried through the night, taking the necklace out, putting it back, telling myself I’d find another way. But morning came anyway.
I walked downtown to the pawnshop—the kind of place you only enter when you’ve run out of options.
The bell above the door rang as I stepped inside.
An older man stood behind the counter, glasses low on his nose.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
I hesitated, then placed the necklace on the counter as if it might bite.
“I need to sell this.”
He barely glanced at it before his hands froze. His eyes locked onto the necklace, and the color drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered.
“It was my grandmother’s,” I said, annoyed by the delay. “Look, I just need enough for rent.”
“What was her name?”
“Merinda. Merinda L. Why?”
His mouth opened, then closed, before he stumbled back like the counter had shocked him.
“Miss… you need to sit down,” he muttered, gripping the edge.
My stomach dropped.
“Is it fake?” I asked nervously.
“No,” he breathed. “It’s real.”
Then, with trembling fingers, he grabbed a cordless phone and hit speed dial.
