My granddaughter Maya was the first to notice.
“Grandma?”
Everyone looked at the television.
There I was.
Sitting beneath studio lights.
The room went silent.
Then Edmund’s photograph filled the screen.
The reporter spoke about a businessman who had quietly spent decades helping strangers without putting his name on anything.
One by one, people appeared.
A mother whose child had survived cancer.
A mechanic whose education Edmund had paid for.
A widow whose mortgage had disappeared after her husband’s death.
Wesley sat forward.
“What is this?”
Nobody answered.
Then the report changed.
Talia explained that Edmund had prepared the story months before his death but had refused to let it air unless I chose to release it.
Corinne looked at me.
“You did this?”
“Yes.”
The screen showed part of our living room filmed from the sidewalk that morning.
The curtains had been open.
Visible through the window were the blue labels.
