My grandfather’s funeral seemed surreal. How could the man that I loved so much be gone forever? He was the only person who saw me for who I really was. The only man who had ever believed in me.
The red rose I brought to my grandfather’s funeral stood among the white daisies everyone else brought and placed on the coffin.
That chilly October morning reminded me of the loss, and I was doing my best not to cry.
The rest of the family wasn’t even paying any attention to the ceremony. They were looking at each other, concerned they all received $1 each.
“One damn dollar,” aunt Nancy said. “That old man was loaded, and what did we end up with? Just a lousy dollar.”
Uncle Vic was as angry and as disappointed as the rest of the family. “I know he did this on purpose. He was a spiteful old man.”
“That’s typical of dad,” my mom said, and then turned to me and asked, “Dahlia, do you know anything of your grandpa’s money? You were his little pet, he loved you more than he loved anyone else…”
Before she could even continue, uncle Vic yelled, “Of course she knows that old man’s plans and secrets. Tell us everything, NOW!” he demanded.
But I knew nothing. I just couldn’t believe how everyone was only concerned about inheritance on my grandfather’s funeral.
“What did he leave you Dahlia. How much money did you get?” aunt Nancy kept asking.
“I got what everyone else had,” I said, too busy mourning the loss of the person that mattered the most to me.
“Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you,” my mom said, as he continued taping my shoulder.
My grandpa sometimes spoke of a hidden treasure. His words sometimes echoed in my head, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” he’d say. But that was just a game. There was no real treasure
When they had enough of being at the cemetery, they all left, mumbling how awful my grandpa was because he didn’t leave them his money.
But I stayed. I needed more time to say my last goodbye.
As I stood there, crushed, a woman I had never seen before approached me. “You must be Dahlia,” she said. “You grandpa knew you’d be the last to stay.”
She introduced herself as an old friend on my grandpa and told me he wanted her to give me something.
The woman handed me a letter. It read, 111 locker — Southern Railway Station.
My heart started pounding. Was this has to do anything with the treasure my grandpa often mentioned?
I went home, took my dress off, put on some jeans, and sneaked out of the house.
My mother was on the phone with someone, talking about my grandfather’s funeral, complaining about the money he didn’t leave her.
I took a taxi and headed towards the station that smelled like gasoline.
Rushing, I went to the lockers that all looked exactly the same. When I finally spotted the one labeled 111, I opened it with the key from the envelope.
Inside was a bag full of cash. Piles and piles of it. God knew hos much money was there.
As I took it in my hands, I recalled my grandpa’s words, “Your family doesn’t see your worth, kiddo. Live free.”
That money really brought me freedom. I felt suffocated in my own home where everyone always treated me like a scapegoat.No more forced family dinners, no more pretending that I enjoyed the presence of my aunts and uncles. I was free.
the taxi took me to my house, but I didn’t enter it. Instead, I asked to be taken to the airport. I was about to book a flight and leave my toxic family behind.
My grandpa knew I needed that, and he made it happen.
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Bored Daddy
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