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

That last part made her pause.

She put the pen down and looked up.

“You will help,” she said. “But there are other ways. The car can wait.”

“How long?” I asked.

“Until I’m the only senior still on the bus? Because that’s what it feels like.”

“You’re not the only one,” she said. “And the bus is safer than half those idiots behind the wheel.”

“That’s not the point,” I snapped.

“You don’t get what it’s like there.”

Her mouth tightened. “I know more than you think.”

“If you did, you’d help,” I said. “You never spend money on anything.

You’re just… cheap.”

The word came out angry and ugly.

Her face changed. Slowly.

“I see,” she said.

Guilt punched me in the stomach.

“I didn’t—”

She held up a hand.

“That’s enough for tonight,” she said. “We’ll talk when you’re not using words to hurt.”

I stood up so fast my chair screeched.

“Don’t worry,” I said.

“I’m not asking you for anything ever again.”

I slammed my bedroom door and cried into my pillow, hating myself half the time and her the other half.

By morning, I’d rehearsed an apology in my head.

“You’re not cheap. I’m sorry. I was just mad.”

I meant to say all of it.

I never got the chance.

That morning, I chickened out.

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