When I was five, my Nana gave me her bone china tea set. It was delicate, hand-painted, and passed down from her own mother. She made the moment special: sunlight in the room, lemon cookies on the table, her kneeling to tell me, “One day, you’ll understand why this matters.”For years, I treasured it. Every tea party felt like a connection to her love. It came to me officially in her will, addressed:
