My boyfriend pawned the only thing I had left of my mom, an…

My boyfriend pawned the only thing I had left of my mom, and now it’s gone forever.

Back in June, I was in a really dark place. I tried to end my life. I don’t even remember most of those days clearly, but when I finally came home from the hospital, I found out that my boyfriend had pawned my mom’s violin the one thing I had left of her. She died when I was seven, and I’ve spent most of my life clinging to that violin because it felt like the only connection I had to her.

He told me he “panicked” about rent and thought pawning it was the only way to get quick money. No one had even shown up asking for rent or threatening eviction. He just went into what he called freak-out mode. He didn’t even use his own ID he got someone else to do it because he had lost his. And now that person is in jail, which means I’ll never get it back. It’s been months, and I know it’s gone for good. The thought of it sitting in a pawn shop, or worse, in someone else’s hands, breaks me in ways I can’t even describe.

I keep thinking about how, right before everything happened, I told him how much that violin meant to me. I told him it was sacred, that it was all I had left of her. And somehow, he still chose that. Out of all the instruments I own guitars, keyboards, random junk I would’ve gladly sold he chose the one thing I couldn’t replace.

It’s not just about the violin. It’s about what it represented my mother’s memory, my childhood, something pure that survived all the chaos. Losing it feels like losing her all over again.

I’ve been struggling with depression and grief for years, but this… this feels different. It’s like someone reached into my chest and took the last piece of her I was holding onto. I keep trying to forgive him, to believe he didn’t mean to hurt me, but every time I think about it, I just feel this deep, aching emptiness.

Sometimes I wonder if he even understands what he did. It wasn’t just a violin. It was her. It was everything I had left when I thought I had nothing.

Now I sit in silence and try to find peace in the memories that still live in my head her voice, the songs she used to play, the way the wood smelled like home. I know I can’t get the violin back, but I’m trying to heal from what feels like an impossible kind of loss.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever lost something that carried someone’s memory I see you. The grief doesn’t fade easily, but somehow, we keep breathing.

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