Victoria Bella Volkov:

“Grandpa, you made this? For me?” I held up the soft, hand-knitted sweater he handed over. It was warm, cozy, and smelled faintly of lavender, just like his study.

He chuckled, his wrinkled face lighting up with pride. “Of course, Bella. Only the best for my little sunshine.”

I slipped it on, feeling the warmth—not just from the fabric but from the love it was made with. “Grandpa… you’re the sweetest!” I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around him in ...