I was tucking the blanket around her shoulders the way she liked, tight on the left side, loose on the right, so she could stick her foot out.
She looked up at me.
Her face was serious.
The kind of serious that seven-year-olds wear when they have been holding a question for days.
“Mommy, am I the reason Grandma is sad?”
I stopped breathing.
Then I sat on continue reading …
