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That morning, dew still clung to the tips of soursop leaves in the backyard. My mother was sitting on an old wooden chair, her fingers clutching a small, rectangular box made of black wood filled with random but beautiful floral carvings. The color was a little dull and some parts looked weathered from termites—a sign of age and the passage of time.
I had just returned from campus, after storing my shoes on the special shoe and sandal rack, and entered my room. I watched my mother from the bedroom window. My clothes were still damp with sweat, but my attention was focused on the box—an heirloom box, its contents containing something that had hung around my mother's neck on important days, or when she remembered my late father.
“Mom, why are you so quiet?” I asked as I approached her after changing.
My mother was silent for a moment, her eyes never leaving the gold necklace with a ruby stud inside the box. “Son… We’ve lived in this house for a long time. But what’s the point if we have to leave because of mounting debt?” My mother said softly, her face sad.
I held my breath. For a long time, debt had been a problem that never really went away. Since my father died, my mother, who used to work alongside him, now worked alone with less enthusiasm—selling cakes, taking orders for birthday and wedding cakes, running a laundry and ironing service, or anything else halal. But the electricity had been cut off for two months, and a warning letter from the bank lay on the corner of the table.
“But, that's the necklace my late father left me. If I sell it,” I said quietly.
My mother sighed, her eyes welling with tears. “There's no other way, son. This necklace and the other jewelry, your father used to say, must be looked after and used for your school fees. But what can we do if we lose our house? Where will we live?” her mother complained.
I lowered my head, holding back my words. There was a long silence. Only the sound of birds in the rambutan tree and the breeze rustling dry leaves could be heard.
“I'll sell it today. Son, help me think about where to sell it, okay?” she said, her voice trembling.
I couldn't say much, just nodded. In my eyes, it was as if the entire family's past hung in Mother's grasp that morning.
Days passed, and one morning the following week, the necklace was truly gone. After going from one gold shop to another, Mother finally returned with a blank face and an envelope in her hand.
"Thank God... We can finally pay off the arrears on this house. At least we don't have to move to a rented house yet," Mother said that evening, as we sat together in the living room. But I knew a part of Mother's heart had been sold along with the necklace.
"Are you sad, Mother?" I took her hand and dared to ask.
Mother held back tears. "No, dear, because you and this house are much more important."
I remained silent. The next day, before leaving for work, I gathered up the coins and money I had saved from my salary and tips from my restaurant job. Besides studying, I also worked as a cashier at a restaurant. I knew it would take a long time, but I really wanted to buy the necklace back. Every week, I set aside a little bit. I even worked overtime and pretended to be sick to have an excuse not to go to class, refusing to hang out with friends for one goal—to bring back my mother's memory, the necklace from my late father.
Time passed, and a year passed. The house remained standing, though the roof leaked during the rainy season and the door creaked. One day, I visited the gold shop on the corner of town where my mother used to sell necklaces. With my heart racing, I struck up a conversation with the shop owner, Mr. Rehan.
“Mr. Rehan, do you remember the gold necklace with the red studs from a year ago? My mother used to have it; she was 54 years old, a little short, and her right hand trembled a little. I want to buy it back, if it's still available,” I said, showing her a photo of the necklace on my phone.
Mr. Rehan smiled slightly, “Hmm, yes, yes. Your mother cried at the time. She said, if she had the money, she would buy it again.” Then Mr. Rehan went into the room and came out carrying my mother's necklace, still intact, exactly as it was when she sold it.
I sighed "Thank God it's still there", I handed over my savings.
"Thank you very much sir, thank you for saving my mother's memories." I am very grateful and don't know how else to thank you.
"Okay, don't take it too hard, take it and give it to your mother, and I'll give you a new box." Mr. Rehan then handed me a box containing a new necklace of the same color.
I almost wanted to cry, it was so hard to imagine what that day would be like. In the evening, I came home with a maroon box. Mother is watering the flowers in the backyard.
"Mom, try closing your eyes for a moment. I have a present for you," I said, hiding the box behind my waist.
"What present, son? You don't need to buy me anything," she said, smiling tiredly.
With trembling hands, I offered the box to her. She was stunned for a moment, then slowly opened it, then gasped. Her eyes filled with tears, her lips trembling as she held back her words.
"Son... this..."
"Taraaa... the necklace my late father gave me has returned to this house. I know it's not about the price. I want you to have all the memories and prayers he gave you," I said softly.
Without warning, Mom hugged me, her tears flowing warmly onto my shoulder, and she said nothing but sobs.
Then, "Thank you, dear," she said simply.
The necklace hung back around Mom's neck that night, as if our home—despite its simplicity—was warm and whole again.
Sometimes, to save something, one is forced to lose something very precious. But love, prayer, and perseverance quietly brought it all home. The house remained standing, and memories finally returned to its dwelling place.
