I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “That’s because it is,”
I whispered. Together, we folded it neatly—not to hide it away again, but to keep it where it belonged, among the living reminders of love carried forward.
My grandmother’s gift had outlasted her, outlasted my youth,
outlasted time itself. Some gifts are like that—humble, steadfast, waiting years for us to finally understand that the simplest things are often the most eternal.
