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No money. Just a rolled-up scrap of notepaper tucked inside. Julia unfolded it slowly, half-expecting gibberish or rot. It was neat, short, and oddly calm. It read: “If you found this, I hope you needed it more than I ever did.” Her chest tightened. This wasn’t some accident or lost item. This was deliberate. Someone had left these jars behind—quietly, intentionally, for whoever needed them most.
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