When I first opened my grandmother’s old drawer, I expected to find the usual things she kept tucked away—buttons, lace ribbons, tiny perfume bottles from decades past. Instead, my fingers brushed against a small wooden object, smooth and rounded like a tiny mushroom. It looked simple, almost too ordinary to be special, but something about it made me pause. I lifted it into my hand, turning it over gently, wondering why she had kept this little thing so carefully protected all these years.
At first, I couldn’t figure out its purpose. It wasn’t decorative, and it didn’t look like it belonged to any craft toolkits I recognized. It was shaped like a miniature toadstool: a rounded top with a small handle underneath. For a moment, I thought it might have been a child’s toy, something she once gave to my mother when she was young. But the wood carried signs of real use—tiny scratches, smooth edges, and the kind of wear that only comes from years of being handled.
