I’ll never forget how my grandmother’s final words were spoken on a stormy evening, lightning crackling through the windows as I sat by her bedside reading a schoolbook. At seventeen, I knew she was ill—her frailty was obvious—but the moment she stirred and whispered my name, “Nora,” it felt like a miracle.
She beckoned me closer, and in a voice that came in soft, measured gasps, she made a peculiar request. Promise me something, she said, leaving me puzzled by her instructions. Though I didn’t understand, I nodded earnestly. Within the hour, she was gone, leaving behind an ache in my chest that refused to heal.
In the days that followed, preparations for her funeral blurred into my grief. My aunt’s words—Celebrate the beautiful life she led, Nora—echoed in my mind, but it was hard to find solace. I tried to distract myself with school, friends, and a part-time job, hoping to fill the emptiness. For a while, I nearly forgot her last wish, unsure if it had even truly happened.
Then, as Christmas approached, the memory of her instructions flooded back to me. On Christmas Eve, the house was awash in colored lights and half-wrapped presents, the air electric with anticipation. That’s when I remembered her words: Remember the little porcelain box in the attic… When I’m gone, take it down. But don’t open it until Christmas morning.
Heart pounding, I dashed up the attic stairs, rummaging through dusty crates until my fingers brushed against a delicate, rose-adorned porcelain box with faded gold accents. My breath caught in my chest. This must be it. For the rest of the evening, I resisted the urge to peek inside, keeping the box close. Only at dawn on Christmas Day, with my family just starting to stir, did I open it.
Inside lay a yellowed note, its faint scent of lavender tickling my nose. My grandmother’s familiar script read:
“Nora, my dearest, my greatest treasure is hidden where we keep the Christmas ornaments. It’s for you—don’t let anyone else take it.”
Spurred by both nerves and excitement, I raced back to the attic. Under piles of tinsel and baubles, I found another small red velvet box. Inside was a tiny key and another note:
“This key is for the old wardrobe downstairs, the one I told you never to open. Merry Christmas, my love.”
Continue reading on next page…