When Grandma passed away, my relatives rushed to her house, eager to see what she had left behind. I was the only one who took her loyal dog, Berta, home—choosing to honor Grandma’s memory instead of searching for valuables. While everyone waited anxiously for the lawyer, I stayed silent, holding on to the comfort Berta gave me. Caring for Grandma in her final months had shown me what mattered most to her, but I never imagined Berta carried a secret message meant only for me.
When the lawyer revealed that none of my relatives would receive an inheritance, the room sank into disappointment. Their attention quickly shifted to Berta, whom no one wanted to care for. Even though my small apartment wasn’t ideal, I gladly took her home, knowing Grandma would have trusted me with her. Life with Berta felt warm and familiar, a living reminder of Grandma’s gentle encouragement. But one evening, after a long shift at the hospital, everything changed.
