I shuffled to the front door in my old slippers, still holding the phone. My daughter\u2019s voice had been thick with tears, and that alone made my hands unsteady. When I opened the door, the morning light spilled across the porch and I stopped short.<\/p>\n
There, resting against the railing, was the photo album I had given him the day before. Beside it sat a small wooden box and a folded piece of paper weighted down with a smooth river stone. My name was written on the paper in his familiar, slightly messy handwriting.<\/p>\n
I carried everything inside and sat at the kitchen table. The note was short.<\/p>\n
*Grandma,
\nI\u2019m sorry I didn\u2019t say much yesterday. I didn\u2019t know how to. I\u2019ve looked through every page twice already. The notes you wrote made me cry in the car. Thank you for remembering all the things I thought nobody else still cared about. I made you something. It\u2019s not much, but it\u2019s from me.
\nLove,
\nEthan*<\/p>\n
\n THE STORY CONTINUES ON THE NEXT PAGE… 👇👇👇\n <\/p>\n