It contained paid invoices, receipts, class notes, and a calendar with generous rest days marked in red.

Grandma insisted she had no intention of working herself into exhaustion again.

“I have a pension, not a bakery empire,” she announced.

“Good,” I said.

“Because I don’t want to end up loading five cakes into my car every weekend.”

She smiled.

“Not unless I pay you a fair delivery fee.”

We both laughed, because the lesson had finally become a family joke without ceasing to matter.