The tale unfolded long ago. The woman who shared it, now a grandmother raising two sweet granddaughters, swears every word is true despite her sensible nature…
A girl sprinted through the murky park, moonlight glinting on the lake ahead. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leapt from the steep bank into the water. Warm waves cradled her until strong hands hauled her up, shaking her roughly. “Have you gone mad, little mite? Where are your parents?”
Sputtering water, Emily tried blinking through soaked curls. “Please stop shaking me,” she quavered. Someone set her on the grass, draped a warm coat over her shoulders, and gently pushed back her hair. Through teary eyes, she saw a stocky old man with a beard tangled with water lilies and reeds.
“Who are you?”
“River Guardian of Thames Reach. Don’t gawk – do children no longer believe in magic? What drove you to this folly?”
Fresh tears spilled. “Mum stopped loving me when Dad left. Today she… she hit me.”
The guardian sighed, patting her head. “None fancy me either. That Jenkins lad from number twelve pulls my beard, and the caretaker swats at me with her broom.”
He produced a glowing seashell warm as a heartbeat. “Take this – came from Cornwall’s shores. Press it to your ear when hurt. But promise to pass it on when needed. Off home with you now.”
As Emily raced indoors, Mum raised a hand shouting – until the shell whispered: “What am I doing? My own darling girl…” They clung together weeping. “You’ll see, Mum – Dad’ll come back. Just don’t shout anymore.”
Next morning, caretaker Mrs. Jenkins brandished her broom. The shell murmured: “Where’s my Tabby? Oh, I’m taking it out on children…” Emily grinned. “Saw Tabby with ginger Tom on Oak Lane!”
At the playground, bully Liam jeered – until the shell revealed: “She’s proper fit. How do I say…?” Emily approached. “I’m Emily. Help me swing high?”
On her first school morning, Mum juggled toast and hair ribbons. Outside, Max shouldered Emily’s backpack proudly. At break, a boy huddled by the climbing frame.
“Everyone hates me,” he sniffed. “Gran and Grandad always row.”
Emily smiled, fingers closing around the shell…
Sometimes, hearing hearts instead of words plants the smallest seed of hope.
