A stranger gave me a note during my grandfather’s funeral, and when I read it, I laughed because Grandpa had deceived us.

Dahlia, 18, feels alone at Grandpa’s burial while her family rages over the meager $1 inheritance. However, Dahlia is drawn into a mystery that only she can unravel after a stranger gives her a covert message.

With my hands clasped in the pockets of my too-small black dress, I stood at the graveyard and listened to the wind ruffle and the priest’s droning words.

Everyone else in the family appeared more interested in glaring at one another than in grieving for Grandpa, even though this was the darkest day of my life.

Individuals during a funeral | Source: Pexels

The cold October air was dense with their harshness, which I could feel. Each one costs one dollar. Grandpa left us only that in his will, and they were incensed. But me? I wasn’t upset. Simply put, hollow.

Grandpa wasn’t meant to be absent. He was the only one who ever saw me—not the mess, not the unnoticed spare kid. When no one else cared, he let me in.

I gazed at the flowers that were lying on his casket. Among the white flowers that everyone else had placed on the coffin, the crimson rose I had sent him stood out.

A red rose on a casket | Source: Pexels

“One dollar,” Aunt Nancy hissed from behind me. “One damn dollar! That man was loaded, and this is what we get?”

Uncle Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Right? I swear he did it on purpose, the spiteful old man.”

“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “He always played favorites, and Dahlia here was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”

A teen girl at a funeral | Source: Midjourney

Aunt Nancy’s eyes cut toward me, sharp as glass. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t act like you didn’t get something.”

I stiffened. “I got the same as all of you.”

Mom’s fingers tightened over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice. “You were always with him. Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you.”

A woman’s hand on a shoulder | Source: Midjourney

Memories came rushing back of Grandpa’s goofy stories about long-lost treasure, and the butterscotch candies he always kept in his coat pocket.

Sometimes he’d wink at me and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” But it was just a game, a joke between us.

I shook my head and turned my gaze back to the coffin. “What Grandpa gave me was his love, his stories, and a place that felt more like home than my actual home. Those things were worth more than money, and there’s no way I can—”

A teen girl staring down in a graveyard | Source: Midjourney

“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom snapped. “Think, girl! What happened to all of his money?”

I shrugged. I truly didn’t know the answer to her question, and I didn’t care. Grandpa was gone. He was my confidant, my safe place, my friend. I’d lost the most important person in the world, but all they cared about was slapping a price tag on his death.

“She knows something,” Vic muttered, loud enough for me to hear.

A teenage girl at a cemetery | Midjourney

As if they could extract secrets from me with enough effort, their voices twisted together, accusing and plotting. However, I didn’t have any secrets that would increase their earnings.

They turned away from the grave and rushed away as soon as they understood there would be no fortune. As they left, I could still hear them arguing and snapping at one another like vultures. I felt ill from it.

“You’ve got to be Dahlia.”

An adolescent girl during a funeral | Midjourney

A woman, perhaps in her sixties, with gentle eyes and a battered leather purse hanging over her shoulder, caught my attention as I looked up. She seemed to know something that the rest of us did not, as evidenced by her quiet and reticent smile.

She leaned in as though we were conspirators and added, “I was your grandpa’s friend.” “This is what he asked me to give you.”

She muttered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family,” as she placed a folded piece of paper into my palm before I could reply.

An adolescent girl during a funeral | Midjourney

A woman, perhaps in her sixties, with gentle eyes and a battered leather purse hanging over her shoulder, caught my attention as I looked up. She seemed to know something that the rest of us did not, as evidenced by her quiet and reticent smile.

She leaned in as though we were conspirators and added, “I was your grandpa’s friend.” “This is what he asked me to give you.”

She muttered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family,” as she placed a folded piece of paper into my palm before I could reply.

A laughing girl | Source: Midjourney

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The note was tucked under my pillow like a secret. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my mind, playful yet certain: “Locker number 111… There’s treasure in there, kiddo!”

A weight settled on my chest, something between grief and hope. What if this wasn’t just some wild goose chase? What if Grandpa had really left something for me, hidden away where no one else could reach?

The thought twisted around in my mind until I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was in that locker.

Sleeping teenage girl | Source: Midjourney

When I woke up the following morning, I immediately called a cab. I heard Mom murmuring on the phone about Grandpa’s will as I crept by the kitchen. She was presumably attempting to get sympathy—or money—from anyone who would listen.

The cold morning air slapped my skin as I tightened my jaw and slipped out the door.

It seemed like the longest twenty minutes of my life during the travel to Southern Railway Station.

An junction with a cab halted | Source: Pexels

As the taxi twisted through tiny alleyways, past walls covered with graffiti and deserted coffee shops that were just beginning to open, my knee jumped with anxious energy. The driver gave me a quick look in the rearview mirror but remained silent.

I requested him to wait for me and got out when we eventually arrived at the station. I walked into the train station, holding the note closely.

The stench of stale popcorn and diesel filled the station. Commuters, tourists, and strangers with places to go hurried past me in all directions.

A crowded train station | Pexels

I paused at the door, feeling suddenly insignificant and uncomfortable. Grandpa’s calm, comforting voice then drifted back into my head: “Real treasure, kiddo.”

With my heart thumping in my ears, I inhaled deeply and made my way to the lockers. The wall was lined with rows of metal boxes, all of them the same color, dented, and a little rusty.

I looked at the numbers till I came upon 111.

Lockers that are old and battered | Source: Midjourney

Taking the folded note out of my pocket, I reached. They taped the key to the back. I inserted it into the lock after peeling it off with shaky fingers.

I freaked out when it jammed for a moment. Then, however, — click! The door swung open as the lock turned.

There was a duffel bag inside. It was heavy, dingy, and ancient. I took it out and unzipped it with trembling hands.
A duffel bag | Pexels, the source

There was money in the sack. It comes in bunches and bundles!

I let out a gasp, my head spinning. Surely it couldn’t be real? I retrieved a stack of crisp $100 dollars and flipped through them. It must have contained at least $150,000.

And another note, written in Grandpa’s sloppy handwriting, was concealed inside the bag:

For my dear granddaughter, all that You now own all I saved. Kiddo, take it and go free. I’ve always had faith in you, even when the rest of the family may not agree.

Reading a message by a teenage girl | Source: Midjourney

I clutched the note to my chest as tears clouded my eyes and a knot formed in my throat. This was freedom, not just money. A means of escape.

Grandpa was always aware of my desperate wish to leave this family. And now he had deceived everyone else while providing me with just what I needed!

My pulse thumping in tune with my feet, I zipped the bag closed, flung it over my shoulder, and left the station.

A teen girl walking through a train station | Source: Midjourney

The early morning sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, golden light. For the first time in years, I felt… light.

During the cab ride back, I stared out the window, watching the city come to life. I had options now. No more suffocating family dinners, no more being ignored or treated like an afterthought, no more being the family scapegoat.

I could leave. I could build something new.

A teen girl staring out a taxi window | Source: Midjourney

The thought scared me as much as it excited me, but Grandpa’s voice echoed in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”

As the cab pulled up to my house, I made my decision. I wasn’t staying. Not another minute!

I didn’t even bother going inside. I pulled out my phone, booked a ticket to anywhere, and told the driver to head straight to the airport.

A taxi driver | Source: Pexels

With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note tucked safely in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.

I was free. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what that meant.