When I turned 18, my grandma gave me a red cardigan —
hand-knitted, simple, not expensive.
I smiled and said, “Thanks.” That was it.
I never wore it.
Fifteen years passed.
Yesterday, my 15-year-old daughter found it in a box and said,
“Can I try it on?”
The moment she slipped her hand in the pocket, we froze.
There was a tiny folded envelope — with my name on it.
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