The Secret Package
By the time the funeral ended, the unease inside me had only grown. When the last guests left and the director gave me space, I slowly approached the coffin once more.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I leaned closer. There it was — the corner of a fabric-wrapped bundle tucked beneath the folds of Grandma’s blue dress, the very one she’d worn to my graduation.
With shaking hands, I lifted it out and hid it in my purse. “I’m sorry, Grandma,” I whispered, touching her cold hand. “But you always taught me to follow the truth.”
Unraveling the Past
Back home, I sat in Grandma’s old reading chair with the package in my lap. It was wrapped in her blue handkerchief, embroidered with a delicate “C.” I remembered watching her stitch it years ago, her voice soft as she told me stories from her childhood.
I untied the string, and what I found made my chest tighten — letters, dozens of them, all addressed to my mother in Grandma’s familiar handwriting.
The first one, dated three years ago, began simply:
“Victoria,
I noticed money disappearing. I wanted to believe it was a mistake. But I know the truth. Please, stop before you lose everything. I want to help you, but you keep turning away…”
One by one, I read them all. Some were full of worry, some filled with disappointment, and finally, resignation.
The last one left me frozen:
“Everything I have will go to Emerald. She has shown me love without conditions. I will always love you, but I cannot trust you anymore.”
A Letter Too Late
At the very bottom of the stack lay a different letter — not from Grandma, but from my mom. The handwriting was rushed, uneven.
“Mom,
Fine. I admit it. I took the money. You never understood me. But Emerald will. She’ll give me whatever I ask, because she loves me. In the end, I’ll still get what I want.”
I set the letter down, my heart heavy. Memories flooded back — the expensive gifts, the “emergencies” when she borrowed my credit card, her casual questions about Grandma’s finances. The puzzle pieces slid into place.
The Confrontation
The next morning, with no sleep and swollen eyes, I called her. “Mom, can we meet for coffee? Grandma left something for you. She told me to give it to you when the time was right.”
Her voice lit up instantly. “Of course, darling! You’re such a thoughtful daughter.”
That afternoon, she walked into the café in her red blazer, her eyes darting straight to my bag. She reached for my hand, all smiles. “Sweetheart, you look exhausted. This has been so hard for you. You and your grandmother were so close.”
I nodded, sliding a wrapped bundle across the table. She opened it quickly, only to find a few blank pages — and two letters on top. One was Grandma’s: “I know what you did.” The other was mine.
My Letter
Her fingers shook as she read it:
