Her mother had warned her that the necklace wasn’t worth much in money, but it carried history, generations of women holding on through hardship. To Mara, it became more than an heirloom—it was a symbol of hope. She touched it whenever the fear threatened to drown her, drawing on it as if the stone itself carried a heartbeat stronger than her own.
But reality didn’t bend to sentiment. Bills piled higher every week. The landlord’s warnings grew sharper. Her shifts at the diner stretched longer, yet her paycheck never seemed enough. The baby’s due date approached like a storm she couldn’t stop. Love, she realized, was not enough to fill an empty cupboard or to keep the heat running through the night.
She tried everything—selling the few possessions she had, bargaining with the landlord, visiting food banks that gave her bags of rice and dented cans. Still, her savings vanished, and the weight of responsibility pressed down harder. She had promised herself she would never give up her child. But hunger, exhaustion, and desperation wore away even the strongest vows.
The day came when she walked to the adoption agency with trembling steps, the necklace warm against her skin, as if it knew what she was about to do.
Good story if it lets me connect to the rest of it.