Chapter 4 - GRANDMA’S HOUSE
Theo and I moved in with Grandma temporarily.
Dad hated it.
I loved it.
That made me feel guilty.
Grandma’s house was smaller.
Old-fashioned.
Her television required three remotes nobody understood.
She put plastic covers over food containers even when the containers already had lids.
But nothing was filmed.
The first week, every time I laughed, I looked around for a phone.
Grandma noticed.
One evening I knocked over a glass of milk.
It shattered.
My body froze.
Grandma turned from the stove.
“Mia?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s a glass.”
“I know.”
“We have more.”
I started crying.
She stood there confused.
Then understood.
She did not hug me immediately.
She asked:
“Do you want me close?”
I nodded.
Then she hugged me.
Nobody filmed it.
That mattered more than I can explain.
Theo adjusted quickly.
Babies are strange that way.
Give them the same stuffed bear and someone safe to hold them, and sometimes they show you what resilience looks like.
Dad began supervised visits.
Kelsey was prohibited from joining them while her case was reviewed.
The first time Dad came, he brought gifts.
Grandma stopped him at the door.
“No.”
“They’re for the kids.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“You show up with yourself.”
His face tightened.
“I’m their father.”
“Then be one.”
He left the bags in his car.
During the visit, he barely knew what to say to me without performing.
“How’s school?”
“Fine.”
“You still doing art?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then he looked toward the corner.
No camera.
No ring light.
No Kelsey prompting jokes.
Dad looked lost.
It scared me to realize maybe he had forgotten how to be with us without turning the moment into something usable.
Theo crawled toward him.
Dad picked him up.
For ten minutes, he just held his son.
No video.
No caption.
No audience.
Dad started crying.
I looked away.
Not because I forgave him.
May you like
Because some moments should belong only to the person having them.
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