On her deathbed, my grandmother entrusted me with a task to be fulfilled at Christmas. For months, I mourned her absence, but when the time came to honor her final wish, I discovered just how extraordinary she was.
My name is Nora, and this journey began when I was 17. Grandma, frail and bedridden, spent her last days with me by her side. One stormy evening, she whispered a peculiar request into my ear: “Promise me you’ll remember.” I agreed, but her passing left me uncertain about what she meant.
Months later, on Christmas Eve, her words resurfaced: “Remember the porcelain box in the attic.” I rushed to find it, and on Christmas morning, inside, I found a note leading me to a hidden treasure. It included a key for a wardrobe downstairs, which I’d always been told to avoid.
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