“Hey, Grandma,” I whispered. “I get it now.”
The no to the car. The patched shoes. The lie.
“I forgive you.”
Somewhere out there, my parents are probably alive.
I’ve never called.
Because the truth is simple now:
She didn’t lie to steal from me.
She lied to protect what mattered.
And somehow, that lie gave me a life they never could.
