“I know,” I said.
She looked at me carefully.
“Do you?” she asked.
I studied her face—the lines around her mouth, the tiredness in her eyes.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I think you finally saw what I’ve been seeing for years.”
Her lips trembled.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?” I asked.
“For laughing,” she said.
The apology wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t accompanied by excuses.
It was just there.
I let it land.
“Thank you,” I said.
When I got home that evening, Emily met me at the door.
“How was work?” she asked, eyes searching my face.
“It was… productive,” I said.
Amanda was at the kitchen table drawing.
She looked up cautiously.
“Did Grandpa yell at you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I admitted.
Her shoulders tightened.
“And?” she whispered.
“And it didn’t work,” I said.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“And Grandma?” she asked.
“Grandma made a decision,” I said carefully.
