Shortly before her de.ath, she called me into her room. We were alone. Her voice was barely audible — like a whisper:
— Remove my photo from the grave exactly one year after. Not sooner. Do you promise?
I tried to comfort her:
— Grandma, you still have many beautiful moments to live…
She just smiled softly, closed her eyes, and whispered:
— Promise me…
I looked at her, moved, and nodded. That night she passed away peacefully.
Twelve months later, I had almost forgotten that strange request. But a promise is a sacred thing. When I went to the cemetery, I easily turned the frame, and as soon as I removed the picture, I screamed:
— This is unbelievable…
Under the glass frame of the photo was an old, yellowed letter written in delicate handwriting — addressed to me.
My hands were trembling. Not from fear, but because I felt my heart beating faster with every passing second.
I carefully unfolded the paper and began to read. It was indeed her handwriting.
When I opened the letter, I almost fainted.
— “You are reading this now… That means the time has come,” wrote Grandma with her familiar, calm tone.
— “You’re probably wondering why I made such a strange request.”
She paused for a moment and continued:
— “Inside the photo frame was my will. Together with your grandfather, we saved it there years ago. We agreed: ‘If one of us leaves this world earlier, the other will hide our secret in the image of eternity.’ It was our way of staying together even after de.ath.”
Tears filled my eyes. “So if I ever miss my grandparents, I can look at the photo frame — and feel like they’re still here…”
My fingers ran over the edge of the photo frame.
There really was something hidden there. I pulled it out — a small pendant with their wedding photo inside. The engraving read:
“Eternity. Love.”
