My son wandered in, humming a strange melody he claimed the “nice lady” taught him.
Each time he hummed it, the pin seemed to gleam softly, catching the light in an uncanny way.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman hadn’t simply rescued my son—she had left something behind with purpose.
The next day, curiosity got the better of me.
I examined the hairpin closely and found delicate symbols etched along its side—too elaborate for such a tiny object.
A jeweler I consulted frowned, admitting he’d never seen anything like it. “It’s old,” he murmured, “much older than it should be.”
That night, my son woke terrified from a dream. As I held him, he placed the pin in my hand and whispered, “She said it will protect us.”
His unwavering trust made my skin prickle. He spoke of the woman as though she still watched over us.
A week later, a sudden blackout swept through the entire town. My home went completely dark—except for one soft glow.
The hairpin on my bedside table was emitting a warm, steady light. My son padded into the room, calm, as if he’d been expecting it.
When I picked up the pin, the glow brightened, just enough to illuminate our faces. Minutes later, the power flickered back, but the moment left me shaken.
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