A Warning I Didn’t Want to Hear
One chilly afternoon, I visited Grandma. We sat at her kitchen table, tea steaming between us, the familiar ticking of her old clock filling the silence.
“Are you still with Henry?” she asked suddenly, her eyes piercing.
I blinked. “Of course.” My hands tightened around my cup.
“And his wandering ways?” she pressed gently.
The words burned. “He promised he wouldn’t hurt me again. I have to believe him. For the baby.”
Grandma didn’t soften. She leaned closer. “A friend saw Henry and Stacy together. At a restaurant. Laughing. Too close.”
My heart clenched. No. Not Stacy. Not Henry. I stood abruptly, anger rising like a shield. “That’s cruel, Grandma. I won’t listen.” And I stormed out, unwilling to let her words sink in.
