I entrusted my mother’s gold jewelry to my mother-in-law for safekeeping, all that I had left from her. A year later, when I asked for it back, she showed me empty boxes and said, “Don’t worry, dear, I bought you…”

My mom passed away three years ago. Cancer. It was quick. From her inheritance, all I received were her pieces of jewelry — a delicate gold chain with a bird pendant, a ring with a small sapphire, and stud earrings. Not Cartier, of course. But every time I wore the chain, I could feel my mother’s warmth around my neck.

My mother-in-law offered to keep everything at her place. She said she had a safe in her bedroom, secure, while we were living in a rented apartment, and anything could happen. It sounded reasonable. She really knows how to sound reasonable. I carefully packed everything into velvet boxes and handed them over to her. She nodded, said “don’t worry,” and put them away in a drawer.

A year flew by unnoticed. Work, daily life, problems. Then it was my birthday — my fortieth. I wanted to wear my mom’s chain. I called my mother-in-law, asked her to return it. She hesitated and then said, “Come over on Saturday.”

I visited. My heart was pounding anxiously. Foolish, I thought. She surely kept everything safe. My mother-in-law led me to the bedroom, opened a cabinet, and took out the familiar jewelry box. I was already smiling, reaching out my hands.

She lifted the lid. Empty boxes. Just three empty boxes on velvet.

I couldn’t comprehend at once. Staring at that emptiness, unable to make sense of it. Where? How?

She smiled. Such a strange smile — just the corners of her lips, not the eyes. And she said, “Don’t worry so much. I bought you a new set for your birthday — modern, beautiful. Your mother’s old stuff wasn’t in fashion anyway.”

She took out a box from a jewelry store. A shiny set — a thicker chain, a heart-shaped pendant, teardrop earrings. Expensive, probably. Fashionable. Cold.

I couldn’t breathe. I asked, “Where are my mother’s things?” My voice unfamiliar, quiet.

She shrugged, “I sold them. Got a good price, by the way. With that money, I bought you a decent gift. You wouldn’t want to walk around in museum pieces, would you?”

The bird on the chain. My mom wore it for twenty years. She’d stroke it with her finger when she was nervous. I remember how that bird glistened on her neck as she tucked me into bed. I remember how she would take off her earrings in the evening, place them on the nightstand, and I would fall asleep to the soft sound of metal on wood.

And my mother-in-law sold all of it. Without asking. Without any right. Sold it and bought something new. As if memories could be replaced like an old phone for a newer model.

I accepted that box. Said thank you. Left. At home, I wore that set once — on that very fortieth birthday. My husband said it looked beautiful. He didn’t notice that I cried the whole evening.

Since then, that box has been lying in a drawer. I can’t throw it away — it’s still expensive. I can’t wear it — it suffocates me.

And my mother’s little bird is somewhere on someone else’s neck. Maybe it’s been melted down. Maybe someone has different earrings now. I don’t know.

Tell me honestly: did she have the right? Is it acceptable to sell someone else’s memory if you think you’re buying something better in return?

***

After my mother’s death, all I had left were her jewelry pieces: a thin chain with a little bird, a sapphire ring, and stud earrings. My mother-in-law suggested keeping them in her safe, saying our rented apartment wasn’t secure. I trusted her. A year later, I asked for them back. She invited me to come on Saturday. When I opened the jewelry box, there were three empty boxes inside. My heart skipped. I looked up at her, not understanding what was happening. And she said:
Don’t worry so much, dear, I bought you…
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