At Grandpa’s funeral, 18-year-old Dahlia felt completely alone as her family seethed over the meager $1 inheritance they each received. But when a stranger handed her a secret note, Dahlia was drawn into a mystery only she could solve.
I stood by the graveside, my hands buried in the pockets of a black dress that felt two sizes too small. The priest’s monotonous voice blended with the rustling wind, but I barely heard it. All I could feel was the weight of loss pressing down on me.
This should have been a moment of mourning, but the air around me was thick with something else—resentment. Grandpa had left each of us just one dollar in his will, and my family was fuming.
I wasn’t angry, though. I was empty. Grandpa wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was the only person who ever saw me—really saw me. To the rest of the family, I was just the spare kid, the screw-up. But to him, I was someone who mattered
