Grandpa sighed, shifting in his chair. “Your grandmother was always handling things,” he said, his eyes distant. “She was the organized one, always making sure everything was in its place.” I nodded, urging him to continue. “There were some things she took care of that I didn’t ask about,” he admitted, his voice growing softer. “Maybe it was something to do with that.” I pressed, “But do you know what this arrangement was?” He shook his head slowly, a veil of sadness descending over his features. “I don’t know, my dear. She always said not to worry about it, that she’d take care of everything.” It was clear he wasn’t willing to delve deeper, or perhaps he truly didn’t know. I decided to dig further on my own.
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