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

Her cardigans went shiny at the elbows.

The soles of her shoes were more duct tape than rubber. At the grocery store, she flipped every price tag and sometimes put things back with a sigh.

But my field trips were always paid for.

I had birthday cakes with my name in frosting. Picture day money folded into an envelope.

Notebooks and pencils at the start of every school year.

People at church would smile and say, “You two are like mother and daughter.”

“She’s my girl,” Grandma would say. “That’s all.”

We had rituals.

Sunday tea with too much sugar. Card games where she “forgot” the rules whenever I started losing.

Library trips where she’d pretend to browse for herself and then end up in the kids’ section next to me.

At night, she’d read aloud even when I could have just read to myself.

Sometimes she’d nod off mid-chapter. I’d take the book, mark the page, and tuck a blanket over her.

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