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.
It was clear now: this object wasn’t meant to be an accessory. That woman knew something long before it happened—and for some reason, she entrusted us with the pin.
I still don’t know who she was or how she found my son that day, but I’ve stopped questioning her gift.
The hairpin now rests inside a small wooden box by my bed. I rarely open it, yet I often feel its quiet presence—like a silent guardian.
Every so often, when life feels uncertain, I notice a faint shimmer from inside the box, a reminder that we’re not entirely on our own.
And each time it happens, I’m grateful for the mysterious woman who returned my child… and left us with far more than a simple keepsake.
