A few weeks later, Aunt Monica sent a letter.
Hers was shorter.
She apologized.
She admitted she had convinced herself that Grandma would never notice.
She admitted that jealousy and entitlement had turned her into someone she barely recognized.
Grandma read that one too.
She forgave her eventually.
But forgiveness didn’t mean giving her access to the trust again.
That distinction became something Grandma repeated often.
“Forgiveness closes a wound.”
She would say.
“It doesn’t give the person who caused it another knife.”
My cousins visited occasionally.
At first, they were embarrassed.
Then they started asking questions.
They wanted to know why nobody had stopped their parents.
Grandma never blamed them.
She told them,
