The letter came in a plain white envelope, my name written in Grandma’s familiar, flowing cursive. I smiled as I sorted through the usual stack of bills and ads. Her notes always made my day. But this one felt different.
“Please don’t visit me anymore. I’ve changed the locks. I need space and peace now. Don’t call. Don’t write. Just let me be.”
I read it again. And again. My hands trembled. My heart raced. This wasn’t like her. Just last week we were baking cookies, sharing stories. She hugged me tight, kissed my cheek. Nothing had seemed off.
I called Jenna, my older sister. “Did you get a letter from Grandma?” I asked. Her voice was flat. “Yeah. Same message. She says she needs space. No explanation.” I was stunned. “That’s not like her.” Jenna sighed. “Maybe she’s tired. I have a meeting, Claire. We’ll talk later.”
Confused, I dialed Marie, our younger sister. “Claire, I was just about to call you,” she said. “I got the same letter. I tried phoning Grandma, but it went straight to voicemail.”
“Something’s wrong,” I said. “Grandma raised us. She wouldn’t just shut us out. I’m going over tomorrow.”
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