Beatrice’s eyes dropped to the bread, then met her granddaughter’s open, innocent gaze. Nobody at the table held their breath or manufactured drama.
Beatrice calmly reached out, took the roll, and said, “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Underneath the table, Daniel found my hand and gave it a firm squeeze. This time, I squeezed back just as tightly.
Whether Beatrice will ever fully unlearn the rigid conditioning instilled by her own mother remains uncertain. But my daughter continues to reach for bread without ever checking anyone’s facial expression first. And for right now, that victory is more than enough.
