But his eyes were the same as they’d always been. Sharp enough to quiet a whole room.
He looked straight at my mother.
“Margaret,” he said. “You said what?”
My mother’s face went hard.
“This is family business, Dad.”
“I am family,” he said.
My father pushed off the doorframe. “Arthur. Don’t make a scene.”
Grandpa didn’t even look at him. He turned to me instead and held out his hand. It was wrinkled and spotted and a little shaky.
“I’ll walk you,” he said.
My throat went tight. “Grandpa…”
“You were never a regret, Emma.” He pressed his thumb into my palm, the way he used to when I was little and scared of thunderstorms. “You were the only one who came back for the truth.”
My mother’s smile slipped.
Just for a second. Less than a second.
But I saw it.
And so did Grandpa.
