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.**