That evening, grieving and exhausted, I wrapped myself in the coat. Reaching into the pocket, I noticed the lining felt unusual and found a hidden, hand-stitched section.
Inside was an envelope. My hands shook as I opened it and discovered the deed to my grandmother’s lakeside cabin, transferred into my name years earlier.
A note explained she wanted the cabin to belong to the person who truly understood its meaning. The coat had protected something far more valuable than it seemed.
Weeks later, Victoria called angrily after learning many of her antiques were replicas with little value. She suspected a mistake and questioned me.
