Suddenly, it all made sense. My grandmother, who never spoke much about her fears, had quietly tucked her worries beneath her pillow, trusting these dark stones to guard her sleep. What had seemed eerie became deeply tender. We didn’t throw them away. Instead, we placed them in a small glass bowl on her nightstand, like a silent continuation of her ritual. Now, whenever we pass that room, the stones are still there, keeping watch for a woman who believed in unseen shields.
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