I grew up wondering why my parents left me. Fifteen years later, Grandpa’s study held the answer.

Now my father pointed toward my bedroom.

“Start packing.”

I said nothing.

Because Grandpa had warned me that this exact moment might come.

Two weeks before he died, Grandpa placed a small brass key in my hand.

“Don’t open my study until your parents come looking for the house.”

At the time, I thought grief was making him overly cautious.