The day my mother passed away, my two brothers and I started tidying up the house
While sorting through her belongings, we discovered three identical old blankets, carefully folded and placed on top of the wardrobe. My brothers immediately complained: in their opinion, these old things were just useless junk that would clutter the house. But I, without really knowing why, decided to take them all.
To my great surprise, my four-year-old daughter suddenly pointed at one of them and whispered:
— Dad, look… the blanket is moving!
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My mother had left one autumn morning, as quietly as an oil flame going out. All her life, she had worked tirelessly, leaving behind a half-worn house and a few objects worn by time.
In her small room, there was nothing valuable—just a chipped wooden wardrobe and those three thick, patched blankets, carefully folded by her hands. My eldest brother frowned:
— Why keep these old things?
Might as well throw them away!
The second one chimed in:
— Exactly. They’re worthless. Whoever wants them can take them; I’m not carrying trash.
I pressed my lips together before replying calmly:
— These are memories of our childhood.
If you don’t want them, I’ll take them. My brother raised his hands in annoyance:
— Suit yourself.
Just trash, nothing more. The next day, I brought the three blankets to my small apartment.
I planned to wash them and keep them in memory of Mom.
But when I shook one of them, I heard a sharp, metallic sound—as if something heavy had just fallen to the floor…
While sorting through my mother’s belongings, we discovered three identical old blankets, carefully folded and placed on top of the wardrobe
The day Mom left, my brothers and I cleaned the old house. On top of the wardrobe, we found three identical blankets, carefully folded. — Old junk, grumbled my eldest brother.
— Toss it.
I said nothing. These blankets had cradled our childhood.
I took them. At home, when I shook one of them, a metallic noise rang out.
An old key fell to the floor.
My daughter, fascinated, asked:
— Dad, what does it open? I didn’t know. Then, inside the lining, I discovered an envelope where Mom had written:
“To my children.
For when I am no longer here.”
She explained:
“The first bedspread hides a secret: the key opens the old shed.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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