Two days before she died, my grandmother sent a message to our family group chat — a small, almost casual note that would later shatter me. “Does anyone have a little money to spare? I’d like to buy something important.” Most of us ignored it.
We assumed she was fine, maybe just short on groceries again. Everyone had excuses — work, school, bills — life’s endless noise drowning out her quiet plea. That night, guilt gnawed at me.Continue reading…
