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“Please,” she insisted, closing my fingers over the object. “Take this. Keep it. My mother always said it was lucky. I think it’s supposed to be with you now. It will help you someday.”
It was an antique brooch, shaped like a delicate, silver flower with a solitary, brilliant blue stone set into the center. I tried to protest, but she was already backing away, a sad but grateful smile on her face as she disappeared through the front door and into the bustling city outside.
“I don’t want to hear the story,” he said, cutting off my attempt to explain the girl’s grief. “You facilitated a theft. You broke the fundamental trust of this establishment. You’re fired.”
I walked out of the store with my meager box of belongings, but curiously, I didn’t feel the weight of failure. Instead, I felt a strange sense of buoyancy. That job had always been a placeholder, a quiet corner where I could hide from my own ambitions. Being forced out felt like being pushed into the sunlight.
A week later, I found myself sitting in the lobby of a major architectural firm—a dream company that I had previously deemed far beyond my reach. On a whim, or perhaps guided by a lingering sense of connection to that girl, I had pinned the silver flower brooch to the lapel of my blazer. During the interview, as I was discussing my portfolio, the hiring manager suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes were fixed on my jacket, her expression one of utter bewilderment.
“Where did you get that brooch?” she asked, her voice hushed and urgent.
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