Everything began with something small — a tiny, curved object I stumbled upon inside a stranger’s discarded handbag at a thrift store. Beige, crescent-shaped, firm yet yielding to the touch. It looked almost new, as if someone had intentionally placed it there. I bought the bag because it reminded me of my mother — soft, worn leather with a faint scent of lilac, carrying echoes of old memories. But when my fingers reached into the side pocket that day, they brushed against this object, cool and smooth. I pulled it out, turning it over under the kitchen light. It didn’t...
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