The days leading up to Christmas were hard. I tried to keep a brave face for the little one, but the nightstand kept staring at me. It looked wrong. It looked naked.

One evening, Sophie was sitting on the rug in my room while I was folding laundry. She was watching me.

“Grandma,” she said, pulling at the hem of her pajamas. “Why do you keep looking at the little table?”

I stopped folding a towel and sighed. “Well, sweetie. That is where your grandpa used to leave my quarters.”

“I know,” Sophie said, nodding her head very seriously.

“You do?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He talked to me about it. Right before he went to the hospital.”

My chest felt tight. Arthur had been in the hospital for three days before he passed, and Sophie had gone in to say goodbye to him. I had stayed in the hallway to give them their moment. I didn’t know they had talked about the quarters.

“What did he say?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Sophie just shrugged her little shoulders. “He told me it was a secret. But he said I had to help him keep a promise.”

I didn’t press her. She was only nine, and I didn’t want to make her sad during the holidays. I just kissed the top of her head and told her she was a good girl.

On Christmas morning, I woke up early. The house was freezing, and the gray winter light was just starting to peek through the curtains. I stayed under the blankets, dreading the day.

Then, I heard a tiny, soft sound.

It was a metal clink.

My heart did a strange, fluttering jump. I sat up fast, my eyes rushing to the nightstand.

There was a quarter. It was shiny, heads-up, sitting right next to my water glass.

Next to the coin was a small piece of green construction paper, folded in half. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely pick it up. I opened it. Inside, in Sophie’s careful, messy kid handwriting, was a message.

“Grandpa told me to give you this,” the note read. “He started in 1983 because you had that big fight and you ran to the phone booth in the rain. You didn’t have a quarter to call your mom. He said he never wanted you to feel stuck with him. He wanted you to always have your own way out, even if it was from him. He said he loved you enough to let you go.”

I sat there on the edge of the bed, the green paper in my hand, and the tears just poured down my face.