My grandma didn’t say a word at first.

She just sat there in her armchair, hands folded tightly in her lap while I cried so hard I could barely breathe. The blanket was crumpled against my chest, still smelling faintly like the garbage bin outside our house.

But underneath that—
underneath the dirt and the cold air—
it still smelled like my mom’s perfume.

Lavender.

My grandma finally reached over and brushed a shaking hand across the yarn.