Those five words cut through me like a knife. But I smiled because a mother always smiles when something hurts.
“Well, I came to see my grandson’s son. It’s his birthday.”
Before I could say more, I heard heels clicking on the hardwood floor. It was Holly, my daughter-in-law. She planted herself in front of me with her arms crossed, her face red with fury.
“Robert, did you tell your mother to come?”
“I… I mentioned the birthday to her, but this can’t be happening.”
Her voice rose so loud that the children inside stopped laughing.
“Either she leaves or I leave. I’m not going to share my house with this woman.”
My son looked at me. I looked at him. And in that moment, I saw something in his eyes I had never seen before. Fear, but not fear of losing me. Fear of losing her.
“Mom…” His voice trembled. “Maybe, maybe it’s better if you go.”
The world stopped. I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I just squeezed the suitcase against my chest where I still carried that photograph and the album that never made it into my grandson’s hands.
