When my grandmother got sick, I was the one who took her to chemotherapy sessions, brought her her medication, and spent the nights on her couch. My sisters showed up to take pictures. After the will was read, they left smiling, and I went home with her old dog, until he started acting like he had something to tell me.
I was 28 when my grandmother got sick, and my life took a new shape. I took her to chemotherapy, organized her medications, stocked her refrigerator, and slept on her couch when the nights dragged on.
Her dog, Scout, stayed close to her like a shadow. He was old and stubborn, with a gray muzzle and a hissing breath that always sounded like an insult.
I was 28 years old when my grandmother got sick.
My sisters kept themselves “busy”.
Maris would send “Thinking of you” texts , and Kaia would react with heart emojis as if that counted as help.
Every two weeks they would show up with supermarket flowers, take a sad selfie, and disappear again.
One night, after chemotherapy, Grandma June’s hands were shaking so much that she spilled tea on the blanket. I wiped it up with a paper towel, trying not to look scared.
Scout rested her head in her lap and looked at me as if I were responsible for fixing the world.
“Promise me one thing.”
Grandma squeezed my hand. “Blythe,” she said, “they’ll come running as soon as I’m gone.”
“Grandma, no,” I whispered.
His eyes met mine, calm and sharp. “Promise me one thing. If it turns into a circus… you’re taking Scout.”
I swallowed hard. “Why would it turn into a circus?”
“Because they’ll smell the money,” she said, in a plain voice. “And they’ll forget I was a person.”
Scout’s ears twitched when he heard his name.
The house felt bad without her humming.
“I promise,” I said. “I’ll take it.”
He nodded and softened. “Good, sweetheart.”
That nickname used to make me roll my eyes when I was a kid.
That night my chest hurt.
***
Three months later, she was gone. The house felt sad without her humming, without the little laugh she let out when Scout begged her.
Kaia’s mascara was smudged in a way that seemed intentional.
At the funeral, Maris wept bitterly, her face pressed against a handkerchief as if it were a performance.
Kaia clung to his arm and looked around as if she were checking who had noticed.
People would tell me, “You did so much,” and I would nod like a ghost.
Two days later, the three of us were sitting in a lawyer’s office that smelled of lemon cleaner and old paper.
Maris wore a fitted black dress and lipstick that didn’t quite match her grief.
Kaia’s mascara was smudged in a way that seemed intentional.
Then the lawyer turned to me.
Maris leaned forward before the lawyer finished his opening sentence.
“And… the house?” she asked, her eyes shining.
Kaia chimed in. “IS IT DIVIDED INTO THREE PARTS?”
The lawyer adjusted his glasses. “June left the house to Maris and Kaia.”
Maris’s smile flashed. Kaia’s shoulders lifted as if she had just won something.
Then the lawyer turned to me.
“I suppose you’ve got your reward.”
“Blythe,” she said, “June left you Scout.”
Kaia laughed. “The DOG?”
Maris smiled with satisfaction. “WOW, CONGRATULATIONS. YOU TOOK CARE OF GRANDMA FOR NOTHING.”
I got a lump in my throat, but I didn’t give them a reaction to feed on.
I stood up. “So can I take it today?”
The lawyer nodded. “Yes.”
I sat on the floor beside him and cried over his fur.
Kaia tilted her head. “I guess you got your reward.”
I left without looking back.
Scout waited in my car on a blanket that smelled like my grandmother. When I opened the door, he looked up and wagged his tail once, tired but confident.
“Come on, mate,” I whispered to him. “We’re going home.”
My apartment was tiny and too quiet.
He kept sniffing his collar and looking at me as if I was missing a clue.
Scout sniffed every corner, then circled around and slumped down with a heavy sigh, as if registering his entry into a new place.
I sat on the floor beside him and cried over his fur.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
He nudged my hand with his elbow as if to say, “Yes, fine, but please stop.”
That night he didn’t calm down. He kept sniffing at her collar and looking at me as if I were missing a clue.
“Do you need to go out?” I asked him.
For those who chose Scout. Password required.
He didn’t move towards the door.
He sniffed the necklace again.
I leaned over and saw a small sticker on its label. A QR code.
My stomach turned.
At two in the morning, with my phone shaking in my hand, I scanned it. A page opened: For those who chose Scout. Password required.
My mouth got dry.
A video loaded and the grandmother’s face filled my screen.
I wrote silly guesses. June. Grandma. Scout. Love.
Nothing.
Scout rested his chin on my knee, his eyes calm, as if he had been waiting for me to catch up.
I stared at the screen until my eyes burned, and then I typed what my grandmother used to call me when I was little: beautiful.
The page unlocked. A video loaded, and Grandma’s face filled my screen, healthy and bright.
It shocked me so much that I exclaimed.
“Scout is not just a dog. Scout is proof.”
“Hi, honey,” she said, smiling. “If you’re seeing this, it means you did what I asked.”
I put a hand to my mouth. “My God.”
“Listen carefully,” Grandma said. “Scout isn’t just a dog. Scout is proof.”
I let out a shaky laugh that sounded like a sob.
“If you haggled, if you asked, ‘What else?’, then you weren’t someone I could trust,” he said. “But you didn’t.”
Her eyes softened. “You accepted it. You chose love. So you have the truth.”
“Don’t confront your sisters yet.”
My chest tightened. “What truth?”
“Tomorrow,” the grandmother continued, “take Scout to Dr. Patel’s clinic. Ask for a file in Scout’s name.”
I blinked. “Your name?”
“They’ll know,” she said. “Inside is an envelope and a key.” Then Grandma’s expression turned firm. “Don’t confront your sisters yet. Don’t warn them. Let them show you who they are when they think they’ve won.”
The video ended.
The clinic smelled of antiseptic and wet hair.
My apartment seemed colder. Scout licked my fingers once, slowly and deliberately.
“Okay,” I whispered. “We’ll do it.”
***
In the morning, I drove across the city with Scout in the passenger seat.
The clinic smelled of antiseptic and wet hair.
Scout’s tail twitched once as if he remembered.
The receptionist looked up and her expression changed. “Scout.”
In the parking lot, I opened the folder.
I swallowed. “I’m Blythe. June’s granddaughter. I was… told there’s a file under Scout’s name.”
He didn’t ask any questions, he just disappeared in the back and came back with a manila folder.
“Take care of him,” she said softly.
“I will,” I replied.
In the parking lot, I opened the folder with trembling hands.
A sealed envelope said Blythe, written only in the grandmother’s handwriting.
“I’m coming. Where are you?”
There was a small key attached to a note: Storage Unit 118. Bring someone.
I stared at her, my heart pounding.
Then I called my friend Tessa because I didn’t trust myself not to faint in public.
He answered cheerfully. “Hello!”
“I need you,” I told him. “Right now.”
Her tone changed instantly. “I’m coming. Where are you?”
We carried two containers and the safe to my car.
Unit 118 opened with a creak. Inside were neatly stacked containers, photo albums, and a small safe that appeared to belong to a bank.
Tessa stared. “Your grandmother planned it.”
“He always did,” I murmured.
We carried two containers and the safe to my car.
Back at my apartment, I first opened the sealed envelope.
“That’s outrageous.”
It contained bank statements, a handwritten ledger, and a typed document entitled Fiduciary Contingency.
I read the fiduciary clause twice, and then a third time, because my brain refused to accept it.
If Maris or Kaia tried to sell the house, take out a loan, or take the assets before the estate was settled, the house would be transferred to a charitable trust.
They would lose it.
Tessa exhaled. “That’s outrageous.”
“Only until payday. Promise to pay it back.”
I looked at the ledger. Grandma had recorded every “loan” she’d given my sisters, down to the last dollar. Emergency rent. Car payment. “Only until payday. Promise to pay it back.”
They hadn’t returned anything.
I plugged in the USB drive and listened to the voice messages.
Maris: “Grandma, it’s practical. Put us on the account.”
Kaia: “You’re sick. Let us take care of it.”
My hands clenched into fists. They hadn’t been too busy. They had been too greedy.
Maris and Kaia were inside as if they had just moved in.
***
A week after the reading of the will, I went to my grandmother’s house to get some sentimental things.
I brought Scout along because I didn’t trust my sisters not to “lose” him on purpose. Besides, I needed him pressed against my leg like an anchor.
When I opened the front door, loud music was playing in the living room.
Not grandma’s old country radio station. Something loud and strident.
Maris and Kaia were inside as if they had just moved in.
There were boxes in the hallway.
“This place is a gold mine.”
There were open garbage bags on the floor like hungry mouths.
Kaia lifted Grandma’s casserole dish with two fingers. “Why did she keep this junk?”
Maris pointed at a stack of old Pyrex dishes with her phone. “That’s worth money. Don’t throw it away.”
I got a lump in my throat.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Kaia turned around, her eyes sparkling. “Sort. This place is a gold mine.”
“Go take your dog for a walk.”
Maris didn’t even say hello. “Take all the junk you want. But don’t touch anything valuable.”
Scout grunted under his breath, a sound I had never heard from him before.
Kaia rolled her eyes. “Oh my God! Is the puppy still here?”
“It’s not small,” I said. “And it’s not yours.”
Maris smiled contentedly. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to steal your prize.”
Kaia laughed, sharp and wicked. “Seriously, Blythe. What are you doing here, loser? Go walk your dog.”
I left my folder next to their piles.
The word “loser” landed with force because it proved the grandmother right.
To them, I was just manpower. A tool. Something to step on.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t cry.
I walked over to the dining room table and left my folder next to their piles.
Maris frowned. “What is that?”
“He can’t do that.”
“Grandma’s real plan,” I said.
Kaia snorted. “The will was read. We get the house. You get the dog. End of story.”
I slid the fiduciary clause towards them.
Maris read the first few lines and remained still.
Kaia bent down. “What is this?”
“It says,” I replied calmly, “If any of you sells the house, takes out a loan against it, or takes the assets before the estate is settled, the house will be transferred to a charitable trust.”
I left the bank statements and the accounting ledger.
Kaia looked incredulous.
“He can’t do that.”
“He already did it,” I told him. “It’s filed away.”
Maris’s fingers trembled. “This is false.”
I left the bank statements and the accounting ledger.
“Then explain the reimbursements during chemo,” I said. “Explain why the amounts match the ‘loans’ that Grandma wrote down.”
“Do you think you’re a hero for playing nurse?”
Kaia’s face flushed. “Did you check his things?”
I looked at the broken drawers and the trash bags. “You’re going through her things right now.”
Maris retorted: “Do you think you’re a hero for playing nurse?”
My voice trembled, but I kept it steady. “I wasn’t playing games. I was here. Every day.”
Kaia’s voice cracked, half anger, half panic. “So you’re blackmailing us.”
“No,” I said. “Grandma set limits. I enforce them.”
Maris stared at Scout as if she had turned into a grenade.
Scout leaned against my leg, warm and solid.
I looked at him and then looked back at my sisters.
“He didn’t give me Scout as a consolation prize,” I said. “He gave me Scout because he knew that whoever wanted him enough to take him without wondering ‘what else’ was the person he could trust.”
Maris stared at Scout as if she had turned into a grenade.
“This is crazy,” he whispered.
“I want them to stop turning their lives into a garage sale.”
“It is,” I agreed. “But it’s real.”
I pointed to the boxes. “Put them back. Stop taking things out of this house.”
Kaia opened her mouth and then closed it.
Maris swallowed and tried a new tone, thin and controlled. “Good. What do you want?”
I stared at the room where Grandma used to roll out pie dough and call me beautiful.
“I want you to stop turning your life into a garage sale,” I said.
In the car, my hands were trembling on the steering wheel.
For a moment, only the music filled the silence.
I put Scout’s leash on.
He rested his shoulder on my shin as if he were propping me up.
I left without slamming the door.
Outside, the air seemed cold and clean.
Scout trotted beside me, steady as a heartbeat.
It was proof that Grandma had seen everything.
In the car, my hands were trembling on the steering wheel.
“You did well,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I meant Scout or myself.
Scout snorted as if it were obvious.
The house shrank in my rearview mirror.
It wasn’t a prize. It wasn’t a victory.
It was proof that Grandma had seen it all, and yet she still found a way to protect what mattered.
If you could give one piece of advice to someone in this story, what would it be? Let’s discuss it in the Facebook comments.
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