I was seventeen years old, a child raising a child, the first time I pushed open the heavy door of Sam’s Pawn Shop.I was seventeen, a child raising a child, the first time I walked into Sam’s Pawn Shop. The bell rang, cheerful and strange against the tight knot of worry in my stomach. I held my baby son, Elijah, close, and in my other hand, I clutched my father’s watch. My dad had died when I was eleven, in a car crash that split my life into “before” and “after.” The watch was all I had left of him. It was scratched and heavy, but sometimes I swore I could still smell his cologne…….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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