My Mother’s Necklace

Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. They are a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck. Proverbs 1:8-9

The night before Mariana moved to the state capital, her mother, Lúcia, sat on the edge of the bed amidst cardboard boxes and open suitcases. She did not bring an expensive gift, only a small, worn velvet box. Inside lay a simple pearl necklace, the same one Lúcia had worn at her own wedding.

“This isn’t a piece of jewelry, my dear,” Lúcia said, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s a reminder.” And then, as she had done her entire life, she distilled her wisdom into short, almost telegraphic phrases. “Be the first to smile. A grateful heart has no room for envy. And most importantly: never forget to talk to God, even if it’s just to say ‘thank you.’”

Beside them, her father, Roberto, added in his deep, calm voice, “Mariana, the world will offer you many shortcuts. Remember that the right path is rarely the easiest one. Honest work and a clear conscience are the best pillow.”

Mariana hugged her parents, feeling a mix of excitement and dread. She loved their simplicity, but deep down, she felt their advice was… insufficient. It was meant for a small town, for a life she was leaving behind. In the capital, at the advertising agency where she would be a trainee, the language was different: networking, disruption, KPIs, fierce competition. A “grateful heart” would not pay her rent.

The first few weeks were a whirlwind. Her apartment was a shoebox with a view of a brick wall. The job was relentless. Her boss, Verônica, an elegant and sharp-tongued woman, seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in belittling the work of newcomers. “Is this your best?” she would say, tossing Mariana’s presentation back on the table. “This is amateurish.”

One evening, during a happy hour, Mariana listened to the advice of her more experienced colleagues. “The secret here is to be seen,” one of them said. “It doesn’t matter if the idea is yours; what matters is who presents it in the meeting. And, of course, you have to know the latest gossip about everyone. Information is power.”

That was the “teaching” of her new world. Mariana, feeling the pressure to fit in, began to participate. She laughed at a joke about a fired colleague, remained silent when Verônica humiliated another trainee, and started to see her coworkers not as people, but as rungs on a ladder or obstacles. Her parents’ advice felt like a forgotten dialect from a distant land. The pearl necklace remained at the bottom of a drawer.

The opportunity to take a “shortcut” came quickly. Mariana had a brilliant idea for a new client’s campaign. She worked on it over the weekend. On Monday, before she could present it, she heard her colleague, Ricardo, explaining her idea to Verônica, with minor alterations. He had seen it on her computer.

An icy venom crept up her spine. Her first reaction was rage, the desire to expose him, to play the dirty game. To fight with the same weapons. But as her mind formulated the words of accusation, her father’s voice echoed in her memory, “Honest work and a clear conscience are the best pillow.”

She did not say anything. She watched, with a heavy heart, as Ricardo took the credit. That night, she could not sleep. The pillow felt as if it were filled with stones.

The next morning, exhausted, she felt defeated. On the crowded subway, everyone seemed gray, worn out. And then, she remembered her mother’s voice, “Be the first to smile.” It was an absurd, ridiculous thought. But, moved by an impulse she did not understand, she looked at an elderly woman squeezed beside her and smiled. A small, tired smile. The woman, surprised, smiled back, and for an instant, the train car seemed less oppressive.

It was a small sliver of light. When she arrived at the office, instead of sitting at her desk ruminating on the injustice, she went to the breakroom and made coffee. She brought a cup to the young trainee who had been humiliated the day before. “Your work yesterday was good,” Mariana said simply. The girl looked at her with eyes full of tears and gratitude.

Mariana did not know it, but Verônica, her boss, was watching the scene from her office doorway.

That day, Mariana did not focus on Ricardo’s betrayal. She focused on doing her work with the excellence her father had taught her. At the end of the day, as she was preparing to leave, Verônica called her in.

“Your campaign idea was very good, Mariana,” she said bluntly. “I know it was yours. Ricardo does not have that kind of ability.”

Mariana remained silent, surprised.

“What you did today,” Verônica continued, “bringing coffee for Letícia, smiling… that is not common here. Talent is easy to find. Character is rare. Tomorrow, you will work directly with me on this project. I want to see what else you have got.”

When she got home, Mariana opened the drawer. She took the small velvet box and removed the necklace. The pearls were cold to the touch, but when she fastened it around her neck, she felt a warmth that seemed to radiate from within.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her parents’ advice was not a set of chains, nor a burden. It was, in fact, the most beautiful thing she possessed. The words were not just words, but an invisible ornament of grace that protected her, and a necklace that gave her a dignity that no position at the company could ever offer. They were the wisdom that set her apart, that made her valuable not just as a professional, but as a person. And, for the first time in a long time, she felt truly at home.

(Made with AI)