When I was 9, my mum passed away suddenly. Her last gift to me was a ballerina snow globe.

When I was 9, my mum died, leaving me a ballerina snow globe. For 20 years, it sat untouched until my daughter, Mila, shook it, revealing a rattle. Inside, I found a note in my mum’s handwriting: “For when you need me most. Look beneath the garden stone.” Beneath the stone in my backyard, I uncovered a tin box with cash, unseen family photos, and another note. It assured me of my strength and provided a “nest egg.” The money saved us

from financial ruin after my husband’s job loss. Among the photos, I found one of my mum with a man, “A,” from 1984—before my dad. My aunt revealed he was Adrian, her first love. A locket in the box held their photos, engraved with a message about love’s many forms. My mum’s gift wasn’t just money—it was her resilience and love, teaching me that our parents’ lives hold hidden treasures of strength and sacrifice.