The words felt like betrayal.
I cried until my throat hurt, until my chest felt hollow. But by morning, I had made my decision.
The pawn shop sat on a quiet street downtown, squeezed between a laundromat and a shuttered bookstore.
A small bell chimed as I stepped inside.
The air smelled faintly of metal and dust.
An older man stood behind the counter, polishing a watch. He looked up and gave me a polite nod.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
My fingers tightened around the necklace.
“I… I need to sell this.”
I placed it on the counter carefully, like it might shatter.
He barely glanced at it at first.
Then he froze.
His hand hovered mid-air, the cloth slipping from his fingers.
Slowly, he leaned closer.
The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It was my grandmother’s,” I said, suddenly uneasy. “I just need enough for rent.”
“Your grandmother’s name?”
“Merinda L.,” I answered. “Why?”
He stumbled back as if I had struck him.
“Miss… you need to sit down.”
My stomach dropped. “Is it fake?”
“No,” he breathed. “It’s… it’s very real.”
He grabbed a cordless phone with trembling hands and hit a speed dial.
“I have it,” he said when someone answered. “The necklace. She’s here.”
My heart started racing.
“Who are you calling?”
He covered the receiver, eyes wide.
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