"Hey, Granny."

The aroma of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and sweet potato pie filled the tiny apartment on the west side of Chicago. Sunlight beamed through the sheer curtains, dancing on the faded wooden floor. Miss Laverne's 75th birthday was in full swing, and the energy in the room rivaled any family reunion. Miss Laverne was the kind of woman whose presence could warm a room faster than sunlight through an open window. Her deep brown skin–soft as velvet, and her hair–a crown of salt and pepper curls, often tucked under a colorful headscarf. She favored floral dresses and pearls, especially her signature string of Akoya pearls—a gift from her late Husband Otis on their 25th anniversary. Seventy-five years strong, and she wears her age like a badge of honor. Even in her house slippers, she carries herself with the grace of royalty, because, as she often reminds her grandkids, "A queen don't need a throne to know her worth." Laughter recoiled off the walls as her children, grandchildren, and even a few great-grands filled the space with love. "Granny, you look like a queen today!" her granddaughter Shaniah beamed with happiness, snapping pictures of Miss Laverne, who sat regal in her floral dress and pearl necklace. Her salt and pepper curls framed her face like a crown. "Baby, I’ve been a queen." Miss Laverne chuckled, smiling wide enough to show the gold cap on her back molar. "But thank you, sugar. I feel blessed." Her son Marcus took charge of the grill on the small back patio while her daughter Lorraine cut slices of red velvet cake in the kitchen. Cousins played spades at the folding table near the window, trash talk flying as fast as the cards. It was everything Miss Laverne could have asked for–family, food, and fellowship. But the real surprise hadn’t even begun. Shaniah glanced at the clock on her phone. "Auntie Lorraine, did Uncle Joe call you?" she whispered, trying not to attract attention. "Girl, no." Lorraine murmured. "You know your Uncle Joe's always on CP time. He probably stopped at the gas station for scratch-offs." Shaniah smacked her lips "He better not mess this up." She’d worked too hard for the past two months pulling this together. Today had to be perfect. The music shifted from classic Motown to some Frankie Beverly and Maze, and the elders started swaying in their chairs. Miss Laverne clapped her hands to the beat, her eyes soft with joy. That’s when the knock came. "Shaniah!" her cousin Bryan called from the door. "Somebody here for you."...."Nah." Shaniah grinned, heart thudding in her chest. "Somebody here for Granny." The room fell quiet as Shaniah rushed to the door and swung it open. There, standing tall and tentative, was a man in a stiff Army uniform—Shaniah's brother Shaqir. He’d been stationed overseas for the past two years, unable to make it home even for holidays. Miss Laverne had cried more than once, praying for his safe return. "Shaqir?" Miss Laverne’s voice trembled as she stood slowly, hands flying to her mouth. "Hey, Granny." Shaqir said, voice thick with emotion. The room erupted. Children screamed, Lorraine dropped her plastic knife, and Marcus nearly tripped over the threshold trying to get inside. But Miss Laverne didn’t move—not until Shaqir closed the distance and wrapped her in a hug so tight it seemed like he was holding her together. Tears streamed down both their faces as the family circled around, phones recording, laughter and cries mingling like the perfect harmony of a gospel choir. "You came home for my birthday." Miss Laverne whispered against his shoulder, voice cracking. "I had to." Shaqir replied, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "You’re the heart of this family. I couldn’t miss this." The party didn’t wind down until well past midnight. And long after the last guest had gone, Miss Laverne sat in her chair, cradling Shaqir’s hand in hers, smiling as though she’d just won the lottery. Because, in her eyes, she had. As the clock ticked toward 1 a.m, the two sat reminiscing. Shaqir told stories about life overseas—the long nights, the friendships he had formed, and the letters from home that had kept him grounded. Miss Laverne listened intently, her fingers tracing the back of his hand as if reassuring herself he was really there. "You know..." Shaqir said, leaning back, "I used to think strength was all about muscle. But being away taught me it’s about heart. And, Granny, you got more heart than anyone I know." Miss Laverne chuckled softly, wiping her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. "Baby, strength is waking up every day, trusting God, and loving your people no matter what. And look at you—you’ve done just that." She gently gave him a pat on the back. Outside, the city settled into its quiet humming—crickets chirping, leaves rustling along the wind, and distant laughter and chatter from the neighbors. Inside, the warmth of family lingered like the scent of sweet potato pie still cooling on the counter. "Granny." Shaniah called softly from the doorway, holding a thick envelope. "There's one more surprise." Miss Laverne raised an eyebrow, accepting the envelope with curiosity. She opened it slowly, pulling out a set of documents. Her eyes scanned the pages and then widened. "A deed?" she gasped, looking up at Shaqir and Shaniah. "Yeah, Granny." Shaqir smiled. "Me and Shaniah pooled our savings. You’ve been renting this place for over thirty years. Now it’s yours. Paid in full." For the first time that night, words failed Miss Laverne. Her hands trembled as she held the papers close to her chest, tears spilling freely. "I… I don’t know what to say," she finally whispered. "Just say you’ll keep making this house a home." Shaniah said, kneeling beside her. "Like you always have." Miss Laverne pulled both of them into a hug, her heart filled with so much joy and gratefulness. It was more than a birthday. It was a testament to love, resilience, and the power of family. And as she closed her eyes, surrounded by her legacy, she knew it was the best gift she’d ever received.