My mind raced through possibilities. Had my kids left candy on the floor? No, too big. Were they some kind of strange pebble? No, too uniform.
My heart started pounding. Was it something dangerous? Something alive?
I knelt down for a closer look. The objects were pale white, almost translucent in some light. They had a soft, flexible texture—not hard like an eggshell, but not squishy like a gel capsule either.
I called my husband. “Come here. Now.”
He walked in, saw me kneeling on the floor, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Look.”
He knelt beside me. We stared at the two strange objects in silence.
“Are those… eggs?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“From what?”
“I don’t know.”
We called our neighbor, who happened to be a biology teacher. She came over, took one look, and smiled.
“Those are lizard eggs,” she said. “Probably from a house gecko. They’re harmless.”
Harmless. Lizards. In my bedroom.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
