My heartbeat echoed loudly in the stillness. I leaned closer and noticed, just beneath the fold of Grandma’s favorite blue dress — the one she wore to my graduation — the corner of something wrapped in blue cloth.
Guilt tugged at me. Loyalty to my mother warred with the need to protect Grandma’s wishes. But honoring Grandma mattered more.
My hands shook as I carefully reached in, removed the package, and tucked it into my purse.
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” I whispered, touching her cold hand one last time. Her wedding ring glinted in the light — a final shimmer of the warmth she always carried.
“But something isn’t right. You always told me to trust my instincts. You said truth matters more than comfort.”
Back home, I sat in Grandma’s old reading chair — the one she insisted I take when she downsized last year. The package rested in my lap, wrapped in a familiar blue handkerchief.
