When I was younger, our house carried a strange, constant smell — like rotten eggs. We searched every corner, scrubbed every surface, but nothing made it go away. My mother grew frustrated, convinced something was wrong, though no one could find the source.
One night, I had a vivid dream. My late grandfather appeared, calm as ever, and told me, “Go into the garage.” I woke up shaken but curious. The next morning, I followed the dream.
In the garage, behind dusty boxes, I found a forgotten propane tank with a small leak. The smell that haunted us for weeks finally had an explanation.
That day, I realized some warnings come in ways we don’t expect — and sometimes love lingers, even after someone is gone.
