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I’m 18, and My Grandmother Was My Only Family
She hesitated, worried she’d embarrass me. She wore her old floral dress, brushed her gray hair carefully, and smiled like it was a holiday. To me, she looked perfect.
When I asked her to dance, the laughter started—loud and cruel.
I felt her shoulders slump. She whispered that she should go home.
Instead, I walked to the DJ booth and turned off the music.
“This woman,” I said into the microphone, “raised me alone. She worked nights cleaning your classrooms so I could stand here tonight. You laugh at her job—but she’s the strongest person I know.”
The room went silent. Then one person clapped. Then another. Soon, everyone was standing.
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