That night, I couldn’t shake the guilt. I transferred her some money without asking what it was for. She replied with a simple heart emoji and a “Thank you, sweetheart.”
The next morning, she was gone. Peacefully, in her sleep.
When I went to her small house to help clean up, I froze the moment I stepped into her kitchen.
On the table were dozens of little gift boxes, neatly arranged in rows. Each one had a small golden ribbon and a name tag — mine, my parents’, my cousins’, even my uncle who hadn’t visited her in years.
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