A folded letter sat on top, yellowed slightly at the edges but clearly protected from the damp soil. Beneath it was a stack of official-looking documents held together with a ribbon.
The second I saw the handwriting on the envelope, I knew.
Grandma.
Tears welled in my eyes as I gently unfolded the letter, my hands trembling.
“Sweetheart,” it began, “if you’re reading this, then you did as I asked. You moved my roses.
I knew you would.”
I bit my lip, blinking hard as the words blurred.
I lowered the letter and pressed it to my chest. The dam broke.
She knew.
Grandma had seen all of this coming: the betrayal, the greed, the stolen will. And she had planned for it, right under my aunt’s nose.
I sat there in the garden for a long time, holding the box like it was some kind of sacred treasure.
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