Chapter 7 - Grace’s Terms
I knocked softly on Grace’s bedroom door before pushing it open. She was sitting at her desk, her sketchpad open, working on a detailed pencil drawing of a soaring hawk.
"Hey, sweetie," I said gently, walking in and sitting down on the edge of her bed. "Do you have a minute?"
Grace put her pencil down, turned around in her chair, and nodded. "Yeah, Mom. What’s up?"
"That was Grandpa on the phone," I began, watching her face carefully for any sign of tension. "He said Grandma has been very upset since Christmas. She’s realized how wrong she and Aunt Tiffany were, and she wants to invite us over this weekend—just the three of us, without Tiffany or the kids—so she can apologize to you directly."
Grace’s expression didn't light up with joy or relief. Instead, her brow furrowed in deep thought. She crossed her arms, looking down at her sneakers.
"Do you believe her?" she asked quietly, showing an emotional maturity that sometimes took my breath away.
"I think she’s scared because Dr. Erica made her look in the mirror," I answered honestly. "I think she feels guilty, but I also think she hates being wrong more than anything else."
Grace was silent for a long moment, the ticking of her bedside clock filling the quiet room.
"I don't want to go to their house," Grace said finally, her voice steady and resolute. "If Grandma wants to apologize, she can come here. To our house. On our turf."
I couldn't help the small, proud smile that crept across my face. "On our turf?"
"Yeah," Grace nodded, a determined spark in her eyes. "If she really is sorry, she can drive out here, sit at our kitchen table, and say it to my face without Aunt Tiffany backing her up or Grandma pretending she’s the queen of the castle."
I stood up, walked over, and wrapped my arms around my daughter, burying my face in her hair. "You are entirely too smart for your own good, do you know that?"
"I learned it from my mom," she mumbled against my shoulder, hugging me back tightly.
May you like
That evening, I called my father back and delivered Grace’s terms verbatim. There was no negotiation, no compromise. If Eleanor wanted a path back into our lives, she had to walk across our threshold, leave her royal airs at the door, and look her granddaughter in the eye on neutral ground.
To my absolute astonishment, my mother agreed.
