My grandmother and I were very close. As a child, she read me fairy tales and walked me to school. As I got older, she treated me like a friend. When I introduced her to my fiancé, she invited him over for a talk, and they spoke for an hour. He never shared what they discussed, saying he’d promised her.
I think she was making sure he’d be a good husband to me, as she was always fiercely protective of me. Before she passed away, my grandmother called me to her when we were alone. She whispered a request—to clean the photo on her headstone exactly one year after she was gone.
I told her, ”Grandma, don’t talk like that; you’ll be around longer.” But she insisted, and so I promised her. That very night, she passed away. A year after her funeral, I went to her grave to fulfill my promise. Armed with a screwdriver, I easily unscrewed the old photo. When I removed it, I was shaken. “This can’t be!” I screamed.
