Maya sat by her grandmother’s bedside, holding her hand as the soft hum of the machines filled the room. It had been a long journey of hospital visits, and today felt different—quiet and final. Her grandmother, once vibrant and full of stories, was now a shadow of herself, a reminder of the passage of time.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden light through the window, her grandmother squeezed Maya’s hand. She reached for the drawer by her bed, fumbling with shaky fingers until she pulled out a small, weathered box. With a gentle smile, her grandmother handed it to her.
“It’s for you,” she whispered.
