I was folding Grandma’s blankets when my sister texted the money cleared and we just landed in Santorini. I smiled, set the laundry down, and said good thing I emptied the account the night before. When they reached the front desk of the villa, everything fell apart.
I was standing in Grandma’s laundry room, folding the same quilted blankets she’d used for years, when my phone buzzed. The house still smelled like her—lavender, cedar, something soft and steady that hadn’t faded yet. It had only been eleven days since the funeral. Eleven days of casseroles, quiet voices, and people pretending…
