“I was a friend of your grandfather’s,” she said, stepping closer. “He asked me to give you this.”
Before I could say anything, she slipped a folded note into my hand and whispered, “Don’t let your family see it.”
Then she vanished into the crowd of mourners, leaving my heart racing as I opened the note.
111 locker — Southern Railway Station.
The words swirled in front of me. Then, suddenly, it hit me: Grandpa’s “treasure.” It hadn’t been a joke after all.
That night, I lay in bed with the note tucked under my pillow. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my head: “Locker number 111… treasure, kiddo.” A strange mixture of grief and hope filled me. What if there really was something waiting for me?
By morning, I couldn’t wait any longer. I called a cab and quietly left the house, careful to avoid Mom, who was still fuming over the will. The cold air stung my face as I slipped into the car, clutching the note in my hand.
The ride to Southern Railway Station felt endless. My nerves buzzed with every twist and turn. When we finally arrived, I asked the driver to wait and hurried inside.
The station was packed with people rushing in every direction. I felt out of place, but Grandpa’s words echoed in my mind: “Real treasure, kiddo.”
I found the row of old, dented lockers and quickly scanned the numbers. My heart pounded when I saw locker 111. I pulled the key from the note, slid it into the lock, and turned.
The door creaked open to reveal a worn duffel bag. My hands trembled as I unzipped it, revealing stacks of cash—bundles of crisp hundred-dollar bills.
But that wasn’t what made my breath catch. Inside the bag was a note, written in Grandpa’s familiar handwriting:
For my beloved granddaughter. Everything I saved is now yours. Live free, kiddo. The rest of the family may not see your worth, but I’ve always believed in you.
Tears blurred my vision as I hugged the note to my chest. This wasn’t just money—it was the freedom Grandpa had always wanted for me. A way out. A chance to live my life on my own terms.
I zipped the bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the station. As the cab took me home, a new sense of lightness filled me. I wasn’t stuck in that family anymore. I had a way out.
When we pulled up to the house, I didn’t even go inside. Instead, I told the driver to head straight to the airport.
With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note safe in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.
I was finally free.