On her deathbed, Grandma’s diamond ring was quietly taken by my aunt — and two days after the funeral, a mysterious package changed everything.

Grandma was still breathing when Aunt Linda reached for the ring. It happened so quietly, so seamlessly, that if you blinked, you would’ve missed it. The hospice room smelled faintly of antiseptic, tinged with the soft, floral scent of lavender lotion Grandma liked to dab on her wrists. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the room. I sat at the foot of her bed, rubbing her heel through the thin hospital blanket, whispering that…
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