I picked up the first sheep Grandma had ever given me, turning it over in my hands. Sure enough, there was a number under its tiny legs. My heart raced as I grabbed another, then another, checking each one. Each sheep had the same message of love, but with a unique number.

“But what does it mean?” I asked, feeling a sense of urgency.

Sheldon chuckled. “I’m not giving you all the answers, little sis. Think about it. Why would Grandma give you a sheep every year with a number?”

I thought hard, my mind spinning. “It has to be some kind of code,” I murmured.

Sheldon nodded, his eyes bright. “Exactly. And there’s a reason for the order. What was the last message you found?”

I thought back to the final sheep I had received on my 20th birthday. “It said, ‘Go to the bank, Clem.'”

“Right,” Sheldon said, nodding. “So, take those numbers and arrange them by the order you got the sheep. What do you see?”

My hands shook as I grabbed a notebook and started writing down the numbers in sequence, from my 7th birthday to my 20th. Slowly, a pattern began to form. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“It’s… a bank account number?” I whispered, my heart pounding.

Sheldon grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”

The next morning, I found myself standing outside Grandma’s bank, clutching the piece of paper with the account number. My palms were sweaty, and my stomach churned with nerves.

I approached the teller, a kind woman who smiled warmly. “How can I help you today?”

I took a deep breath. “I… I think I have an account here. It was set up by my grandmother.”

The teller looked at the paper I handed her, then her eyes widened slightly. “One moment, please.”

After a few minutes, a bank consultant came out to meet me. He introduced himself and gestured for me to follow him to his office.

“Miss Clementine,” he began, sitting across from me, “It seems your grandmother set up a very special account for you when you were born.”

I swallowed hard. “How much is in it?”

He clicked a few keys on his computer and then turned the screen toward me. My jaw dropped.

“Over $120,000,” he said calmly.

I stared at the number on the screen, completely stunned. “This… this is mine?”

“Yes,” the consultant replied, smiling. “Your grandmother made annual deposits for you, and it’s accumulated over the years. But that’s not all.”

He handed me a small key. “There’s also a safety deposit box in your name. Would you like to see it?”

I nodded, speechless.

A few moments later, I sat in a private room, the small safety deposit box in front of me. My hands trembled as I unlocked it. Inside, there was a single envelope, addressed to me in Grandma’s familiar handwriting.

I pulled it out slowly, opening the envelope with care. Inside was a handwritten letter.

Dearest Clem,

You figured it out! Forgive this old lady for playing with you in this way, but I love you so much. I had to make sure that you were set for life and to do it this way so no one would take the money from you.

If I’m still around, come over for tea, honey. If I’m not, just know that I’m with you, always.

Love, Nana.

Tears filled my eyes as I clutched the letter to my chest. She had planned all of this—years of sheep, each one carrying a secret, each one leading me to this moment.

Later that afternoon, I made my way to Grandma’s grave, holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers in one hand and a small flask of tea in the other.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the cemetery. I knelt down and placed the flowers on her grave, the weight of her love still heavy in my heart.

“I brought you some tea, Grandma,” I said softly, pouring a cup and setting it beside her gravestone. “Two sugars, just like you like it.”

I sat down on the soft grass, sipping my own tea and letting the silence wrap around me. For the first time in a long while, I felt at peace. It was as if she was right there beside me, her gentle smile in the breeze and her love in every sip of tea.

“Thank you, Nana,” I whispered, wiping away a tear. “You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined.”