THE PLASTIC SHEEP MYSTERY
Ever since I was seven, my grandma has given me **the same gift every year** on my birthday—a small, plastic sheep.
At first, I thought it was cute. Then, by the time I turned twelve, I started wondering if she forgot she had already given me one before.
By eighteen, I was convinced it was just **one of her quirks**—maybe even a sign of memory issues. But I never wanted to embarrass her, so each year, I unwrapped the box, **acted surprised**, and thanked her with a hug.
That was **until last week.**
My brother pulled me aside after the party, his face unusually serious.
**”You really don’t get it, do you?”** he said.
I blinked. **”Get what?”**
He sighed, grabbed one of the plastic sheep from my shelf, and flipped it over.
Then, he pointed at the **underside.**
**”Next time, try to be more attentive.”**
I squinted. **There was something carved into the plastic.**
Tiny, neat numbers.
I grabbed another sheep. Different numbers. Another. Another. **All different.**
My stomach tightened.
### **THE SHOCKING TRUTH**
Rushing to my desk, I grabbed a notepad and **wrote each number down** in the order I had received them.
They didn’t make sense at first.
But when I searched online, my hands started **trembling.**
Each set of numbers matched **a bank account transaction.**
Under my name.
Grandma had been **depositing money for me every single year** since I was seven. And not small amounts, either.
When I checked the total balance, **I nearly fainted.**
Over **$150,000.**
I turned to my brother, my voice shaky. **”Did you know?”**
He nodded. **”Grandma always said you’d figure it out when the time was right.”**
I stared at the tiny plastic sheep in my hand—something I had brushed off as a meaningless trinket for **years.**
Tears welled in my eyes. **She had been taking care of me all along.**
