She said my father had been young, overwhelmed, and tied to a sick woman with a baby. She had watched him struggle and decided his whole future was being ruined.
“She needed treatment,” Grandma said. “I could afford it.”
I stared at her.
“So you paid her to disappear.”
“And I raised you,” she snapped. “I sacrificed everything for you.”
“I know.”
That was what hurt most.
She had raised me while making sure my mother stayed gone.
“I raised you.”
Grandma folded her arms.
“You’re upset. We’ll discuss this when we move into the house.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re not moving anywhere with us.”
Her expression changed.
“What?”
I almost laughed.
“My husband, my daughter, and I are moving in. You are not.”
She opened her mouth, but I wasn’t finished.
“And you stay away from my daughter.”
I gathered the letters.
For thirty-five years, Grandma.
