The Note (1)

I stand in the middle of my grandmother's living room, surrounded by a lifetime of memories. The weight of the task ahead feels overwhelming, but I know it's necessary. Not just for the case, but for my own healing.

"One step at a time," I mutter to myself, echoing my grandmother's favorite saying.

I start with the kitchen, methodically sorting through drawers and cupboards. Each object tells a story - the chipped teacup she refused to throw away because it was a gift from a dear friend, the collection of recipe cards written in her neat handwriting, the jar of kimchi she had prepared just weeks ago.

As I work, memories flood back. The smell of her cooking, the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her hugs. Tears threaten to spill, but I push them back. There will be time for grieving later. Now, I need to focus.