For years, Ava’s grandmother gave her small plastic sheep for her birthday. At first, she thought it was just a quirky, forgetful habit. But Ava would one day discover those odd little gifts had a hidden purpose—one that would shape her future.
I’m the youngest in my family—baby sister to two older brothers already deep into adulthood. Our home was filled with love, but no one doted on me the way my grandma did. Her name was Mabel, and she had a quiet, constant kind of affection that made you feel safe just being near her.
On the night of my 19th birthday, Grandma walked over to me with her familiar slow shuffle, holding a tiny gift box. I already knew what it was—a plastic sheep, just like every year since I was seven.
The first few years I thought it was a joke or maybe forgetfulness. But the tradition never changed. Each sheep had a tiny bell around its neck, always a different color. I would unwrap it, smile, and thank her, secretly wondering why she never gave me anything else.
It wasn’t until after her d.e.ath that I learned the truth.
When she passed away, I was heartbroken. Losing her left an emptiness I didn’t know how to fill.
“At least Grandma lives on in you,” my mother said, brushing my hair back. “You know we named you Ava Mabel because, in so many ways, you were her greatest joy.”
Then, on my 20th birthday, my mom handed me a box.
“She left this with me before she passed,” she said softly. “She said it was the last one.”
Inside was the final sheep. I burst into tears. I excused myself from the party, leaving my nephews to fight over slices of cake, and retreated to my room.
I placed the newest sheep on the shelf with the others. They’d always confused me, but now they brought an odd kind of comfort. My strange, wonderful grandma.
“Hey, Ava?” my older brother, Miles, knocked lightly on the door and stepped inside.
“I miss her,” I whispered. “Even if she was a little strange with her plastic sheep obsession.”
Miles gave me a crooked smile. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”
“Figured out what?” I asked, genuinely lost.
“Turn them over. Look underneath,” he said, gesturing to the shelf.
I picked up one of the sheep and flipped it over. There was a tiny inscription:
I love you.
13.
And under another leg, another number. Every sheep had one. Each one a new message, a new number. A sequence.
“It’s a code,” I said aloud, blinking. “A message?”
“Try the last one,” Miles said, grinning. “Then put the numbers in order by year.”
The final message read:
Go to the bank, Ava.
I spent the rest of the night carefully writing the numbers down, aligning each one by the year I’d received it. Slowly, a bank account number took shape.
The next morning, I walked into the bank I knew my grandma used. My heart was pounding.
After verifying my ID and some paperwork, the consultant returned with a stunned expression.
“Miss Taylor,” she said. “There’s over $120,000 in this account. Deposits have been made annually since you were born.”
I stared at her. “That’s not possible…”
“There’s more,” she added. “Your grandmother also left a safety deposit box in your name.”
Inside the box was a handwritten letter. I recognized her looping cursive right away.
My dearest Ava,
You figured it out! Forgive your silly old Nan for making a game out of this. But I wanted to be sure you were taken care of—and do it in a way that no one else could interfere.
If I’m still around, come over for tea, honey.
I love you.
—Grandma Mabel
I couldn’t stop the tears. She had loved me in the most quiet, profound way. I tucked the letter into my bag, grabbed a flask of tea, and bought a bouquet of her favorite flowers.
As the sun dipped low in the sky, I walked to her grave. The cemetery was calm, wrapped in golden light.
I poured her a cup of tea, adding two sugars, just the way she liked. I sat cross-legged on the grass, sipping quietly, her cup sitting beside mine.
“Thank you, Grandma,” I said, my voice shaking. “You’ve given me a way to go to my dream school. I promise I’ll make you proud.”
I stayed there until the tea in her cup went cold, telling her everything—how much I missed her, how grateful I was, and how much her love still surrounded me.
And for the first time since her passing, I felt her with me.
