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

It was a rainy day. Adults talked in low voices. A social worker told me there’d been “a bad car crash.”

“Instant,” she said.

“They didn’t feel a thing.”

I remember staring at the stains on the carpet instead of her face.

Then Grandma walked in.

Tiny. Gray bun. Brown coat that smelled like cold air and laundry soap.

She knelt down so we were eye level.

“Hey, bug,” she said. “You ready to come home with me?”

“Where’s home?” I asked.

“With me,” she said. “That’s all that matters.”

Her house felt like a different planet.

Peeling wallpaper.

Books stacked everywhere. The permanent smell of cinnamon, old pages, and laundry detergent. The floor creaked in exactly three places.

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