The rain had been falling since early morning—soft but relentless, the kind that sinks into your skin and makes everything feel heavier than it already is. I stood at my grandmother’s door with a small suitcase in my hand, my eyes swollen from crying, my chest tight with words I couldn’t seem to organize.
When she opened the door and saw me, she didn’t ask what was wrong. She didn’t need to. She simply pulled me into her arms, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself lean on someone.
Her house smelled the same as it always had—warm wood, dried herbs, and tea. It smelled like safety. I sat at the kitchen table while she poured hot water into two cups. My hands were trembling so badly I had to wrap them around the mug just to steady myself.
