He lowered himself beside me, slowly, one hand gripping the counter.
“Did you know?”
I whispered.
He looked at the screen.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I hoped they might become better before you had to see how they were.”
“Was Chloe better?”
His face changed.
“Chloe was a child when they took her away.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
He didn’t defend them.
That mattered more than any comforting lie could have.
He sat on the floor until my crying stopped, although his hip hurt for three days afterward.
The last winter of Grandpa’s life arrived early.
By October, he could no longer climb the stairs without stopping halfway.
By November, the workshop stayed dark.
I moved my accounting classes online and took additional shifts at the bakery until he found my schedule taped inside a cupboard.
He held it up.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s temporary.”
