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Family gatherings often included stories, but the box was always off-limits. My curiosity grew into obsession. I began asking my grandmother about it, but her answers were always vague, laced with warnings. “Some things are not meant to be known too soon,” she would say, with a mischievous yet stern look in her eyes. I learned quickly that prying was not only futile—it was discouraged.
This was the first clue that the heirloom might be hiding more than sentimental value. It hinted at knowledge, perhaps even secrets my family had carried for generations, but never shared.
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