Brian stood firm. “Emma is my daughter. If you can’t accept her, you don’t accept me.”
But Carol had a way of cutting deep without saying much, talking about “real grandchildren” or “bloodlines” when we were nearby.
Still, we tried to keep the peace. Until Emma’s ninth birthday.
We’d gone all out: balloons, games, a unicorn cake, laughter filling the backyard. Emma, in her favorite blue dress, glowed with happiness.
Then came the presents.
She opened each one with excitement until she got to Carol’s.
“It’s from Grandma!” she chirped, not suspecting anything.
Inside was a sleek silver photo frame with the words, “Family Is Forever.”
Emma smiled, admiring it. Carol’s sugary voice followed: “Open it, sweetheart. You’ll love it.”
Inside was a photo collage from our summer lake trip. Everyone was in it—Carol, Brian, his sister, her kids, even a photo of Carol’s late husband.
Everyone except Emma and me.
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