Then came the final warning taped to my apartment door.
I didn’t have the rent.
Deep down, I already knew what I had to do.
From the back of my closet, I pulled out the shoebox. Inside, wrapped in an old scarf, lay the necklace my grandmother had given me—a piece I’d kept safe for over twenty years.
It felt different now. Heavier. Warmer. Like it understood.
“I’m sorry, Nana,” I whispered. “I just need a little time.”
I barely slept, going back and forth, hoping for another solution. But morning came—and so did reality.
The pawn shop sat in the middle of downtown, a place people only entered when they had no other choice. A bell rang as I stepped inside.
“I need to sell this,” I said, placing the necklace on the counter.
The man behind it froze the moment he saw it.
His face drained of color.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered.
“It was my grandmother’s,” I replied. “I just need enough for rent.”
“What was her name?”
“Merinda.”
He staggered back, gripping the counter. “Miss… you need to sit down.”
My stomach dropped.
“Is it fake?”
“No,” he said, voice shaking. “It’s very real.”
Before I could react, he grabbed the phone.
“I have it. The necklace. She’s here.”
A chill ran through me.
“Who are you calling?”
