My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
I walked over to the left wall, where a cluster of smaller black frames hung at eye level. One photo showed me sitting on the steps of the library during my junior year of college, holding a stack of heavy textbooks. Another, taken from a distance near a brick archway, captured my graduation day at Ohio State.
I leaned closer to the glass of the graduation photograph, studying the crowd behind the rows of folding chairs.
In the very back row, standing near a concrete pillar away from the other parents, was a tall woman in a dark wool coat. She was leaning on a familiar wooden cane, her face partially shaded by the brim of a black hat. Beside her stood Linda, holding a program in her gloved hands.
I touched the corner of the frame, my finger leaving a small smudge on the glass.
I had spent five years believing I was entirely alone on that afternoon, walking across the stage to receive a degree nobody in my family cared to see.
