I opened the box.
A paper crown.
A spelling certificate.
A faded program from a school concert.
I remembered that concert.
Joel had been eight.
I’d promised to attend.
Peter had gone instead.
I touched the program.
I’d spent 30 years regretting that night.
But I’d never asked Joel how he’d felt.
I placed the program carefully on the bed.
Then I went back to work.
On Wednesday, Stephanie called.
She apologized for Saturday.
Then she asked whether she could bring the children over after school.
“Just for a visit,” she said. “Not babysitting.”
I said yes.
They arrived carrying a little paper bag.
Oliver ran straight to Peter.
Zoe stayed beside me.
“Grandma, I brought you something.”
Inside the bag was a plastic food container.
A slightly squashed sandwich.
Two biscuits.
And half a banana, wrapped carefully in foil.
I smiled.
“What’s all this?”
“Your dinner.”
