This tale unfolded long ago. The woman who shared it, now a grandmother raising two sweet granddaughters, swears every word is true though she’s stern and sensible…
A girl sprinted through the shadowy park, the glimmering lake and full moon ahead. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leapt from the steep bank into the water. The warmth cradled her like a lullaby—until strong hands yanked her out, shaking her roughly. “Have you lost your marbles, tadpole?! Where’s your mum and dad?”
Sputtering, Emily tried blinking through soaked curls. “Please stop shaking me!” Her voice quivered. Someone set her on the grass, draped a coat over her shoulders, and brushed hair from her face. A short old man with a beard tangled with water lilies and reeds frowned down. “Who… who are you?”
“Pond guardian. Don’t gawk—kids these days, no faith in magic! What drove you to this?”
The girl wept. “Mum stopped loving me after Dad left. She shouts, hits…”
The creature sighed, patting her head. “Aye, misery loves company. That lad from Flat 5B pulls my beard, the caretaker swats me with her broom…” His smile turned wistful. “Here—a seashell from distant shores. Press it to your ear when hurt. But promise to pass it on someday.” The shell glowed faintly, warm as a heartbeat.
“Now off home, lass.” He vanished like mist.
Emily dashed inside just as Mum raised a hand, shouting. The shell hummed—and suddenly, Mum’s voice echoed within: *”What am I doing? She’s my darling girl. That rotten man’s fault…”*
“Mum, I love you,” Emily whispered, hugging her. “Dad’ll come back. Just… don’t drink or shout anymore.” They clung together, tears mingling.
Next morning, Emily skipped outside. The caretaker, Mrs. Higgins, brandished her broom. The shell whispered: *”Why do I snap? My Whiskers’ gone… Oh, where’s that cat?”*
“He’s in the next garden, Mrs. Higgins! With a tabby—he’s fine!” The woman blinked, crossing herself as Emily bounded off.
At the playground, a boy sneered, “Crybaby Cow! Want a push?” The shell murmured: *”She’s pretty. How do I say? Maybe if I tease…”*
“I’m Emily,” she said brightly. “What’s your name? Help me swing higher—I can’t reach the sky alone!”
On her first day of Year 1, Mum juggled ribbons, pancakes, and tea while Emily met Oliver by the lifts. He carried her backpack proudly. At break, a boy huddled alone by the pitch, crying.
“I’m Emily. What’s wrong?”
“Nobody wants me. Mum’s gone, Dad works abroad. Gran and Grandpa always fight…”
Emily smiled, reaching into her pocket. The shell glimmered.
Sometimes, all it takes is listening to the heart—and offering a little hope.
