My Grandma Raised Me Alone After I Became an Orphan – Three Days After Her Death, I Learned She Lied to Me My Entire Life

“Hey, Grandma,” I said softly.

“We did it.”

My mouth wobbled.

“I get it now,” I told her handwriting. “The ‘no’ to the car. The beat-up shoes.

The lie.”

I touched the line near the bottom with my fingertip.

“You were right,” I whispered. “I wasn’t.”

I took a deep breath.

The room stayed the same.

But something in me loosened.

Somewhere out there, my parents are probably still alive.

I’ve never called.

They’ve never written.

Sometimes I type their names into the search bar, stare at the blinking cursor, then close the laptop and run lines instead.

Because the truth is simple now, even if the story isn’t:

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