When my grandma got sick, I was 28 years old, and my whole life changed in a single moment.
One day I was living my normal routine. The next, I was driving her to chemo appointments, sorting out her medications in little plastic boxes, filling her fridge with soup and yogurt, and sleeping on her couch when the nights felt too long and too quiet.
Her dog, Scout, never left her side.
He was old and stubborn, with a gray muzzle and a wheezy sigh that always sounded like he was personally offended by the world. He followed her like a shadow. If she moved, he moved. If she coughed, his ears twitched. If she cried, he pressed his head into her lap like he was trying to hold her together.
My sisters? They stayed “busy.”
Maris would send a quick text: “Thinking of you.”
Kaia would react with heart emojis, like that counted as help.
Every couple of weeks, they showed up holding grocery-store flowers. They’d take a sad selfie beside Grandma’s recliner, post something emotional online, and disappear again.
One night after chemo, Grandma June’s hands shook so hard she spilled tea all over her blanket.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I said quickly, grabbing paper towels, trying not to let her see the fear on my face.
Scout pressed his head harder into her lap and stared at me like I was responsible for fixing the whole world.
Grandma squeezed my hand. Her grip was weak, but her eyes were sharp.
“Blythe,” she said quietly, “they’re going to come running when I’m gone.”
“Grandma, don’t,” I whispered. I couldn’t bear hearing it.
She didn’t look away. “Promise me one thing. If it turns into a circus… you take Scout.”
I swallowed hard. “Why would it turn into a circus?”
“Because they’ll smell money,” she said flatly. “And they’ll forget I was a person.”
Scout’s ears twitched at his name.
The house felt wrong even then, like it already knew what was coming.
“I promise,” I said. “I’ll take him.”
She nodded and her expression softened. “Good, softheart.”
That nickname used to make me roll my eyes when I was a kid.
That night, it made my chest hurt.
Three months later, she was gone.
The house felt empty without her humming in the kitchen. Without her little cough-laugh when Scout begged for scraps.
At the funeral, Maris cried loudly, pressing her face into a tissue like she was performing on stage.
Kaia clung to her arm, mascara smudged in a way that almost looked intentional. She kept glancing around the room like she was checking who was watching.
People came up to me and whispered, “You did so much for her.”
I nodded like a ghost. I didn’t feel heroic. I just felt tired.
Two days later, we sat in an attorney’s office that smelled like lemon cleaner and old paper.
Maris leaned forward before the attorney even finished his opening sentence.
“So… the house?” she asked, eyes bright.
Kaia jumped in, “Is it split three ways?”
The attorney adjusted his glasses. “June left the house jointly to Maris and Kaia.”
Maris’s smile flashed. Kaia’s shoulders lifted like she’d just won something.
Then the attorney turned to me.
“Blythe,” he said gently, “June left you Scout.”
Kaia actually laughed. “The DOG?”
Maris smirked. “Wow. Congrats. You tended to Grandma for nothing.”
My throat tightened, but I didn’t give them the reaction they wanted.
I stood slowly. “So I can take him today?”
The attorney nodded. “Yes.”
Kaia tilted her head. “Guess you got your reward.”
I walked out without looking back.
Scout was waiting in my car on a blanket that still smelled like Grandma. When I opened the door, he looked up at me and thumped his tail once. Tired. Trusting.
“Come on, buddy,” I whispered. “We’re going home.”
My apartment was tiny and too quiet.
That night, Scout wouldn’t settle. He sniffed every corner, circled three times, then dropped onto the floor with a heavy sigh like he was clocking in for work.
I sat beside him and cried into his fur.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
He nudged my hand like, Okay, but pull yourself together.
But he still wouldn’t rest.
He kept pawing at his collar and staring at me like I was missing something.
“You need to go out?” I asked.
He didn’t move toward the door. He pawed the collar again.
I leaned closer and noticed something I’d never seen before.
A tiny sticker on his tag.
A QR code.
My stomach flipped.
At two in the morning, with my hands shaking, I scanned it.
A webpage opened.
For the one who chose Scout. Password required.
My mouth went dry.
I tried everything. June. Grandma. Scout. Love.
Nothing worked.
Scout rested his chin on my knee, calm, like he’d been waiting for me to catch up.
Then I typed the name she used when I was little.
softheart
The page unlocked.
A video loaded.
Grandma’s face filled my screen. Healthy. Bright. Alive.
I gasped so hard it hurt.
“Hi, honey,” she said, smiling. “If you’re seeing this, you did what I asked.”
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
“Scout is not just a dog,” she continued. “Scout is the test.”
A shaky laugh escaped me, half sob.
“If you bargained—if you asked, ‘What else?’—then you weren’t the one I could trust. But you didn’t.”
Her eyes softened.
“You chose love. So you get the truth.”
My chest squeezed. “What truth?” I whispered to the screen.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “take Scout to Dr. Patel’s clinic. Ask for a file under Scout’s name.”
I blinked. “Under his name?”
“They’ll know,” she said calmly. “Inside is an envelope and a key.”
Her face turned serious.
“Do not confront your sisters yet. Do not warn them. Let them show you who they are when they think they’ve won.”
The video ended.
My apartment felt colder.
Scout licked my fingers once, slow and steady.
“Okay,” I whispered. “We’ll do it.”
The next morning, I drove across town with Scout sitting upright in the passenger seat like he understood everything.
The clinic smelled like antiseptic and wet fur.
The receptionist looked up when I said his name. “Scout.”
Her expression changed.
“I’m Blythe,” I said. “June’s granddaughter. I was told there’s a file under Scout’s name.”
She didn’t question it. She disappeared into the back and came back with a manila folder.
“Take care of him,” she said softly.
“I will,” I promised.
In the parking lot, I opened it.
Inside was a sealed envelope with my name written in Grandma’s handwriting: Blythe only.
A small key was taped to a note:
Storage Unit 118. Bring someone.
My heart pounded so hard I thought I might faint.
I called my friend Tessa.
“Hey!” she answered cheerfully.
“I need you,” I said. “Like, now.”
Her tone changed instantly. “I’m coming. Where are you?”
Storage Unit 118 opened with a long squeal.
Inside were neatly stacked bins, photo albums, and a small lockbox that looked like it belonged in a bank.
Tessa stared. “Your grandma planned.”
“She always did,” I said.
We loaded two bins and the lockbox into my car.
Back at my apartment, I opened the sealed envelope first.
Bank statements. A handwritten ledger. A typed document titled Trust Contingency.
I read it once. Then twice. Then a third time because my brain refused to believe it.
If Maris or Kaia tried to sell the house, borrow against it, or remove property before the estate fully settled, the house would automatically transfer into a charitable trust.
They would lose everything.
Tessa let out a low whistle. “That’s savage.”
I flipped through the ledger.
Grandma had written down every single “loan” she’d ever given them.
Emergency rent. Car payments. “Just until payday. Promise to pay back.”
None of it had been repaid.
They hadn’t been too busy.
They’d been too greedy.
There was also a thumb drive.
I plugged it in.
Voicemails played.
Maris: “Grandma, it’s just practical. Put us on the account.”
Kaia: “You’re sick. Let us handle it.”
My hands curled into fists.
A week after the will reading, I went back to the house for sentimental things.
I brought Scout with me. I didn’t trust my sisters not to “lose” him out of spite.
When I opened the front door, loud music blasted through the living room. Not Grandma’s old-country station. Something thumpy and careless.
Maris and Kaia were already inside.
Boxes lined the hall. Trash bags sat open like hungry mouths.
Kaia held up Grandma’s casserole dish with two fingers. “Why did she keep this junk?”
Maris pointed her phone at a stack of vintage Pyrex. “That’s worth money. Don’t toss that.”
My throat tightened.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Kaia turned, smiling brightly. “Sorting. This place is a gold mine.”
Maris didn’t even say hello. “Take whatever little knickknacks you want. Just don’t touch anything valuable.”
Scout growled low. I had never heard that sound from him before.
“Oh my God,” Kaia snapped. “Your little dog is still here?”
“He’s not little,” I said. “And he’s not yours.”
Maris smirked. “Relax. We’re not stealing your prize.”
Kaia laughed sharply. “Seriously, Blythe. What are you doing here, loser? Go walk your little dog.”
The word hit me hard.
But I didn’t yell.
I didn’t cry.
I walked calmly to the dining table and placed the folder down.
Maris frowned. “What is that?”
“Grandma’s real plan,” I said.
Kaia snorted. “The will was read. We got the house. You got the dog. End of story.”
I slid the trust document toward them.
Maris read the first lines and went completely still.
Kaia leaned over. “What is this?”
“It says,” I replied evenly, “if either of you sells the house, borrows against it, or removes property before the estate settles, the house transfers into a charitable trust.”
Kaia’s face turned red. “She can’t do that.”
“She already did,” I said. “It’s filed.”
Maris’s hands trembled. “This is fake.”
I placed the bank statements and ledger down.
“Then explain the withdrawals during chemo,” I said quietly. “Explain why the amounts match the ‘loans’ Grandma wrote down.”
Scout leaned into my leg, warm and solid.
Kaia snapped, “You went through her stuff?”
I looked around at the ripped-open drawers and trash bags. “You’re going through her stuff right now.”
Maris hissed, “You think you’re some hero because you played nurse?”
My voice shook, but I held steady. “I didn’t play anything. I was here. Every day.”
Kaia’s voice cracked. “So you’re blackmailing us.”
“No,” I said. “Grandma set boundaries. I’m enforcing them.”
Maris stared at Scout like he’d turned into a bomb.
“She didn’t give me Scout as a consolation prize,” I said softly. “She gave me Scout because she knew whoever loved him enough to take him without asking ‘what else’ was the person she could trust.”
The room went quiet.
“This is insane,” Maris whispered.
“It is,” I agreed. “But it’s real.”
I looked around at the house where Grandma rolled out pie dough and called me softheart.
“Put it back,” I said. “Stop turning her life into a garage sale.”
For a moment, only the music filled the silence.
Then Maris swallowed. “Fine. What do you want?”
“I want you to respect her,” I said. “For once.”
I clipped Scout’s leash on.
He pressed his shoulder into my leg like he was bracing me.
I walked out without slamming the door.
Outside, the air felt cold and clean.
In the car, my hands shook on the steering wheel.
“You did good,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I meant Scout or myself.
Scout huffed softly, like it was obvious.
The house grew smaller in the rearview mirror.
It wasn’t a prize.
It wasn’t a win.
It was proof that Grandma had seen everything. And even at the end, she had protected what mattered most.