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Another winter came.
I hadn't been back to Harrogate in years, not for the holidays, not for any reason. I was honest with myself about why: I was still angry. Angry at Gran for covering for her all those years. Angry at myself for believing the story for so long.
But that year, I went back anyway.
Work ran late, and by the time I finished there were no train tickets left. I stood at the station for a long time, staring at the departures board. Then I got in my car and drove through the night — several hours, just me and the motorway and the darkness — and arrived as dawn was breaking over the fields.
I stood outside the front door for a long time before I went in.
I'd tried to bring Gran to London when I could afford to. She'd refused. So I'd had the old house renovated instead, every room, top to bottom. The neighbors said Gran was lucky — fancy that, raising a girl and having her turn out better than any son could have.
Gran always shook her head when she heard that. "I owe her everything," she'd say quietly. "It shouldn't have been like this."
I'd prepared something to say. Some easy opening line, some way to slide back in as if no time had passed.
But I hadn't prepared for what I found.
Gran was in bed, thin as a winter branch.
She heard the door and opened her eyes, searching the room until she found me.
"Stella, love. You're home." She tried to push herself up. "Let Gran make you those eggs—"
"Don't get up." I crossed the room in two steps and sat beside her.
And I understood, then, why I'd felt compelled to come back. Something had drawn me here that I hadn't been able to name. I understood it now.
This was the last Christmas I was going to have with family.
She passed on the second of January.
She held my hand at the end, and with what was left of her strength, she said: "Stella. The thing I'm most ashamed of in my life is that I helped your mother deceive you. I thought I was protecting you. I was wrong."
"But the thing I'm most proud of — that's you. You didn't lean on anyone. You did it all yourself. I'm so proud."
"Let go of the anger, love. Carrying hate around is exhausting. She's not worth the weight."
She talked for a long time, her voice going in and out, and I held her hand and didn't let go.