When my grandma got sick, I was 28 years old, and it felt like my whole life suddenly shifted into a new shape.
Before that, I had plans. Normal plans. Work, friends, small dreams that felt safe and steady. Then Grandma June got her diagnosis, and everything else faded into the background. There was only her.
I became the one who showed up.
I drove her to chemo appointments, even on the mornings when the sky was still dark and the roads were empty. I sorted her pills into little plastic boxes with tiny labels. I stocked her fridge with soup, yogurt, and the crackers she could sometimes manage to eat.
I slept on her couch when the nights got long and heavy, when the house felt too quiet and she was afraid to be alone.
Her old dog, Scout, stayed glued to her like a shadow.
He was stubborn and proud, with a graying muzzle and a wheezy sigh that always sounded slightly offended, like the world had disappointed him personally. He followed her from room to room, nails clicking on the floor, settling at her feet wherever she stopped.
My sisters, Maris and Kaia, stayed “busy.”
Maris would text, “Thinking of you ❤️,” like that was enough.
Kaia would react with heart emojis in the family group chat, as if tapping a screen counted as support.
Every couple of weeks, they showed up with grocery-store flowers wrapped in crinkly plastic. They’d lean in close for a sad selfie beside Grandma’s recliner, post something about “cherishing every moment,” and then disappear again.
I stayed.
One night after chemo, Grandma June’s hands shook so badly she spilled tea all over the blanket in her lap.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, embarrassed.
I dabbed at the stain with a paper towel, trying not to let my hands shake too. I didn’t want her to see how scared I was.
Scout lifted his head and pressed it firmly into her lap. Then he looked up at me with those cloudy old eyes, as if I was somehow responsible for fixing the entire world.
Grandma squeezed my hand. Her grip was weaker than it used to be, but her eyes were still sharp.
“Blythe,” she said quietly, “they’re going to come running when I’m gone.”
“Grandma, don’t,” I whispered, my throat tight.
She didn’t look away. “Promise me one thing. If it turns into a circus… you take Scout.”
Scout’s ears twitched at his name.
“Why would it turn into a circus?” I asked, even though deep down, I already knew.
“Because they’ll smell money,” she said flatly. “And they’ll forget I was a person.”
The words sat heavy in the room.
I swallowed. “I promise. I’ll take him.”
She nodded, her face softening. “Good, softheart.”
When I was a kid, that nickname used to make me roll my eyes. I’d groan, “Grandmaaa,” like I was too cool for something so sweet.
That night, it made my chest hurt.
Three months later, she was gone.
The house felt wrong without her humming in the kitchen. Without the little cough-laugh she did when Scout begged for scraps.
At the funeral, Maris cried loudly, pressing her face into a tissue like it was a performance. Kaia clung to her arm, mascara smudged in a way that looked almost intentional, glancing around the room like she was checking who was watching.
People came up to me and said, “You did so much for her.”
“You were such a blessing.”
I nodded like a ghost. I didn’t feel like a blessing. I felt empty.
Two days later, the three of us sat in an attorney’s office that smelled like lemon cleaner and old paper.
Maris wore a fitted black dress and lipstick that didn’t quite match grief. Kaia crossed her legs and checked her phone twice before the attorney even started speaking.
Maris leaned forward before he finished his opening sentence.
“So… the house?” she asked, bright-eyed.
Kaia jumped in. “Is it split three ways?”
The attorney adjusted his glasses. “June left the house jointly to Maris and Kaia.”
Maris’s smile flashed. Kaia’s shoulders lifted like she’d just won something.
Then the attorney turned to me.
“Blythe,” he said gently, “June left you Scout.”
Kaia actually laughed. “The dog?”
Maris smirked. “Wow. Congrats. You tended to Grandma for nothing!”
My throat tightened, but I didn’t give them a reaction to feed on.
I stood up slowly. “So I can take him today?”
The attorney nodded. “Yes.”
Kaia tilted her head. “Guess you got your reward.”
I walked out without looking back.
Scout was waiting in my car on a blanket that still smelled like Grandma’s house. When I opened the door, he looked up at me and thumped his tail once. Tired. Trusting.
“Come on, buddy,” I whispered. “We’re going home.”
My apartment was tiny and too quiet.
That first night, Scout wouldn’t settle. He sniffed every corner, circled twice, then dropped down with a heavy sigh like he was clocking in for a shift he hadn’t asked for.
I sat on the floor beside him and buried my face in his fur.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
He nudged my hand gently, like, yes, okay, but please stop crying.
But even after the lights were off, he kept pawing at his collar and staring at me like I was missing something.
“You need to go out?” I asked.
He didn’t move toward the door.
Instead, he pawed his collar again.
I leaned closer and noticed something tiny stuck to his tag.
A sticker.
A QR code.
My stomach flipped.
At two in the morning, with my phone shaking in my hand, I scanned it.
A webpage opened.
For the one who chose Scout. Password required.
My mouth went dry.
I typed guesses. June. Grandma. Scout. Love.
Nothing.
Scout rested his chin on my knee, eyes calm, like he’d been waiting for me to catch up.
I stared at the screen until my eyes burned, then typed the nickname she always used.
softheart
The page unlocked.
A video loaded, and suddenly Grandma’s face filled my screen. She looked healthy. Bright. Alive.
I gasped.
“Hi, honey,” she said, smiling. “If you’re seeing this, you did what I asked.”
I pressed my hand to my mouth. “Oh my God…”
“Scout is not just a dog,” she continued gently. “Scout is the test.”
I let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“If you bargained—if you asked, ‘What else?’—then you weren’t the one I could trust. But you didn’t.”
Her eyes softened.
“You chose love. So you get the truth.”
My chest squeezed. “What truth?”
“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice firm now, “take Scout to Dr. Patel’s clinic. Ask for a file under Scout’s name. They’ll know.”
I blinked. “Under his name?”
“Inside is an envelope and a key,” she said. “And Blythe… do not confront your sisters yet. Do not warn them. Let them show you who they are when they think they’ve won.”
The video ended.
My apartment felt colder.
Scout licked my fingers once, slow and certain.
“Okay,” I whispered. “We’ll do it.”
The next morning, I drove across town with Scout in the passenger seat.
Dr. Patel’s clinic smelled like antiseptic and wet fur. Scout’s tail thumped once like he remembered the place.
The receptionist looked up when I said his name. Her expression changed instantly.
“Scout,” she said softly.
“I’m Blythe,” I explained. “June’s granddaughter. I was told there’s a file under Scout’s name.”
She didn’t ask questions. She disappeared into the back and returned with a thick manila folder.
“Take care of him,” she said quietly.
“I will,” I promised.
In the parking lot, I opened the folder with shaking hands.
Inside was a sealed envelope labeled Blythe only in Grandma’s handwriting. A small key was taped to a note: Storage Unit 118. Bring someone.
I called my friend Tessa.
She answered cheerfully, “Hey!”
“I need you,” I said. “Like, now.”
Her tone changed instantly. “I’m coming. Where are you?”
Unit 118 opened with a squeal.
Inside were neatly stacked bins, photo albums, and a small lockbox that looked like it belonged in a bank.
Tessa stared. “Your grandma planned.”
“She always did,” I murmured.
Back at my apartment, I opened the sealed envelope.
Bank statements. A handwritten ledger. A typed document titled Trust Contingency.
I read it once. Twice. Three times.
If Maris or Kaia tried to sell the house, borrow against it, or remove property before the estate settled, the house would transfer into a charitable trust.
They would lose it.
Tessa let out a low whistle. “That’s savage.”
The ledger listed every “loan” Grandma had given them.
Emergency rent. Car payment. “Just until payday. Promise to pay back.”
None of it had been repaid.
I plugged in the thumb drive from the lockbox.
Voicemails played.
Maris: “Grandma, it’s just practical. Put us on the account.”
Kaia: “You’re sick. Let us handle it.”
My hands curled into fists.
They hadn’t been too busy.
They’d been too greedy.
A week later, I went back to Grandma’s house to collect sentimental things.
I brought Scout. I didn’t trust my sisters not to “lose” him on purpose. And honestly, I needed him beside me.
When I opened the front door, loud music blasted through the living room. Not Grandma’s soft country station. Something thumpy and careless.
Maris and Kaia were inside like they’d already moved in.
Boxes lined the hall. Trash bags sat open on the floor like hungry mouths.
Kaia held up Grandma’s casserole dish. “Why did she keep this junk?”
Maris pointed at a stack of vintage Pyrex. “That’s worth money. Don’t toss that.”
My throat tightened. “What are you doing?”
Kaia turned, eyes bright. “Sorting. This place is a gold mine.”
Maris didn’t even greet me. “Take whatever little knickknacks you want. Just don’t touch anything valuable.”
Scout growled low. I had never heard that sound from him before.
“Oh my God,” Kaia said. “Your little dog is still here?”
“He’s not little,” I replied. “And he’s not yours.”
Maris smirked. “Relax. We’re not stealing your prize.”
Kaia laughed sharply. “Seriously, Blythe. What are you doing here, loser? Go walk your little dog.”
The word loser landed hard.
But I didn’t yell.
I didn’t cry.
I walked to the dining table and set my folder down beside their messy piles.
Maris frowned. “What is that?”
“Grandma’s real plan,” I said calmly.
Kaia snorted. “The will was read. We got the house. You got the dog. End of story.”
I slid the trust clause toward them.
Maris read the first lines and went completely still.
Kaia leaned over her shoulder. “What is this?”
“It says,” I answered evenly, “if either of you sells the house, borrows against it, or removes property before the estate settles, the house transfers into a charitable trust.”
Kaia made an incredulous face. “She can’t do that.”
“She already did,” I said. “It’s filed.”
I laid the bank statements and the ledger on the table.
“Then explain the withdrawals during chemo,” I added. “Explain why they match the ‘loans’ she wrote down.”
Maris’s fingers trembled. “This is fake.”
“You think you’re some hero because you played nurse?” she snapped.
My voice shook, but I held it steady. “I didn’t play anything. I was here. Every day.”
Kaia’s voice cracked. “So you’re blackmailing us.”
“No,” I said. “Grandma set boundaries. I’m enforcing them.”
Scout leaned against my leg, warm and solid.
I looked down at him, then back at my sisters.
“She didn’t give me Scout as a consolation prize,” I said quietly. “She gave me Scout because she knew whoever loved him enough to take him without asking ‘what else’ was the person she could trust.”
Maris stared at Scout like he’d turned into a grenade.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
“It is,” I agreed. “But it’s real.”
I looked around at the torn drawers, the trash bags, the life they were trying to reduce to dollar signs.
“Put it back,” I said. “Stop turning her life into a garage sale.”
For a long moment, only the music filled the silence.
Then Maris reached for the remote and turned it off.
Outside, the air felt cold and clean.
I clipped Scout’s leash on. He pressed his shoulder to my shin like he was bracing me.
In the car, my hands shook on the steering wheel.
“You did good,” I whispered, not sure if I meant him or me.
Scout huffed softly, like it was obvious.
In the rearview mirror, the house grew smaller.
It wasn’t a prize. It wasn’t a victory.
It was proof.
Grandma had seen everything.
And even at the end of her life, she found a way to protect what truly mattered.