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When my grandmother passed away, I assumed the only thing she had left me was a modest $50 gift card—certainly not the kind of inheritance anyone imagines, but completely fitting for a woman famous for her extreme frugality.

I had always believed Grandma was the stingiest woman alive. After her funeral, I found the gift card tucked among her belongings. At first, I almost gave it away, brushing it off as insignificant. But one quiet afternoon, curiosity nudged me, and I finally handed it to a cashier.
That was the moment everything changed.
“It belonged to my grandma,” I replied, my voice suddenly unsteady.
Before I could ask what was wrong, she shouted, “Stop everything! Everyone, wait!”
The store froze. Customers stopped mid-aisle, staring at me as if I were holding something dangerous. My heart pounded as someone went to fetch the manager.
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