When I turned 18, my grandma gave me a red cardigan — hand-knitted, simple, not expensive.
When I turned 18, my grandma gave me a red cardigan — hand-knitted, simple, and not at all expensive. The kind of thing that smelled faintly of lavender and wool, infused with the warmth of her constant care. I smiled politely, muttered a quick “Thanks,” and tucked it away in my closet, thinking little of…