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My classmates mocked my grandma’s aprons, her voice, and even the lunches she packed for me. But when I stepped up to the podium at graduation, the truth I shared left the whole gym silent.
I’m 18, and I graduated from high school last week.
It doesn’t feel like anything’s started. If anything, it feels like something ended too soon, and the world forgot to hit “play” again.
Everything still smells like the cafeteria — like warm rolls and cleaning spray.
Sometimes I think I hear her footsteps in the kitchen, even though I know better.
My grandma raised me.
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