I thought wearing my grandma’s prom dress would help me say goodbye. Instead, the tailor uncovered something hidden in the hem—a note that made me question everything she had ever told me.
My grandma died on my nineteenth birthday. It happened the moment I ran in to show her the blueberry pie I had finally baked without her help.
She was sitting in her chair by the window, just like always. Same posture. Same blanket over her knees.
“Grandma?” I stepped closer, my smile fading. “Hey… don’t do that.”
I touched her hand.
Cold.
“No. No, no, no… you’re kidding, right?”
I don’t remember calling for help. I only remember sitting on the floor, clutching her sleeve, terrified that if I let go, she would vanish completely.
People came. Voices filled the house. Someone kept saying my name like I was far away.
“She’s gone, honey,” a woman said gently.
“No, she’s just tired. She does this sometimes.”
But she didn’t.
A few hours later, I sat at the kitchen table with Mrs. Kline, our neighbor.
Her lilac perfume was so strong it made my head ache. She kept reaching for my hand, as if she needed to make sure I was still there.
“Oh, Emma…” she sighed. “I can’t believe Lorna’s gone. She was everything to you.”
“She still is,” I said, staring at the pie I never got to show her.
Mrs. Kline dabbed her eyes. “I remember when she brought you home. You were so small. Seven years old, holding onto her coat like you were afraid the world would take her too.”
“I remember when she brought you home.”
“It already took everything else,” she added softly.
“She never let you feel that.”
I let out a short laugh. “She didn’t give me a choice.”
Mrs. Kline leaned closer. “And it was true. But now… things are different.”
I knew where she was going before she even said it.
“Emma, have you thought about the house? That place is a lot for one girl. Bills, repairs… you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. College, work—”
“I’m not selling it,” I cut in.
“I didn’t say you had to—”
“You didn’t have to. Everyone always means it.”
Mrs. Kline sighed. “Your grandma didn’t leave you anything else, did she?”
“No. Just the house.”
“Then it’s okay to let it go,” she said gently. “That doesn’t mean you’re letting her go.”
“Yes, it does,” I snapped. “That house is all I have left of her.”
“I’d rather be stuck than alone,” I whispered.
That silenced her. My eyes drifted toward Grandma Lorna’s room.
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