For my wedding, my grandmother gave me something unusual—an old, worn-out sofa. My husband didn’t like it at all, calling it out of place in our modern home. Out of respect for her, I kept it stored in the garage. I never understood why I couldn’t get rid of it, but it reminded me of her warmth and comfort. Years passed, and after going through a painful divorce, I found myself starting over with very little.
One day, while settling into a small new apartment, I remembered the old sofa and decided to have it repaired. When the repairman came to pick it up, he examined it and warned me that it was in rough condition and would take time. I didn’t mind—I simply wanted to hold on to a memory that felt like home. But the next day, he called me urgently and asked me to come to his workshop right away.
When I arrived, he showed me what he had discovered inside the frame of the sofa: several bundles of old bills, a few gold coins, and a sealed envelope with my name on it. Inside the envelope was a letter from my grandmother. In it, she explained that she had always been concerned about my marriage and wanted to make sure I had something to fall back on—something only I would find when the time was right.
Tears filled my eyes as I realized how deeply she had cared and how far ahead she had thought. Even after her passing, she had found a way to support me during one of the hardest times in my life. Her quiet love and wisdom became the turning point I needed. That old sofa wasn’t just furniture—it was her final gift of hope.