“To my dear daughter,
may this bring you warmth when I am gone.
Never forget how much you are loved.”

The words vanished before my eyes, and tears welled up in my eyes. My daughter quietly placed her hand in mine, feeling the weight of the moment without needing any explanation. I sensed that Grandma knew this day would come—that her love would find me when I finally needed it.

Suddenly, the cardigan was no longer just a piece of clothing or a reminder of her guilt. It became her voice. Her embrace. Her legacy.

I sat down with my daughter and told her stories I hadn’t told her in years: how my grandmother raised three children in difficult times, how she found joy despite having little money, how she was able to give endlessly despite having little to spare.

And I realized: The cardigan had served its purpose. For decades, it had carried her love within, patiently waiting for the right moment to reveal its secret.

From that day on, it no longer hid in the shadows of my closet. My daughter wore it with pride – on cool mornings at school, in class, and sometimes just around the house. Each time, I felt a bridge forming between three generations: my grandmother, me, and my daughter.