Inside, I went straight to the closet and pulled out an old shoebox. I hadn’t opened it in a long time.
The necklace was still there, wrapped in the same scarf.
My grandmother gave it to me before she died. I’d kept it for over twenty years. Through everything.
I held it in my hand.
It felt heavier than I remembered.
“Sorry, Nana,” I whispered. “I just need a little time.”
I didn’t sleep that night.
I kept taking it out, putting it back, telling myself I’d find another way.
But morning came anyway.
And I didn’t have another way.
The pawn shop was small. Quiet. The kind of place you go when you’ve run out of options.
A bell rang when I walked in.
An older man looked up from behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
I hesitated. Then I stepped forward and placed the necklace down.
“I need to sell this.”
He barely looked at it at first.
Then he froze.
His eyes locked onto the necklace. His hands stopped moving.
Color drained from his face so fast it scared me.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
“It was my grandmother’s,” I said. “I just need enough for rent.”
“What was her name?”
