“Then why are you the one with her money?”
“I am not stupid. I saw what was happening.”
The line went silent. Then a small breath.
“Because she asked me to keep a promise. That is all I can say.”
I hung up. My hands were shaking so hard that the phone slipped onto the blanket.
I thought about contesting the will. I thought about calling every lawyer in the city. Then I remembered I could barely afford rent.
I cried until I fell asleep with my clothes still on.
“Because she asked me to keep a promise. That is all I can say.”
The next morning, a steady knock at my door pulled me upright. I opened it to find Mr. Bennett standing on the small landing, an envelope in his hand.
“Miss,” he said gently. “Your grandmother left specific instructions that I deliver this to you on this exact date. Not a day earlier.”
“More instructions,” I muttered. “Of course.”
He held it out. “I think you should open it alone.”
I took it without thanking him. I closed the door before he could say more.
The envelope was thick. I tore it open at the kitchen counter, my fingers clumsy.
“Your grandmother left specific instructions that I deliver this to you on this exact date.”
A small brass key fell out first. Then a folded note in her handwriting, the same slanted script that used to sign my birthday cards with nothing but her name.
I read it twice.
You will find a garage at this address. Inside is what you truly deserve.
I sat down on the floor.
