Chapter 3: Ultimatums and Old Wounds

Once again, she dumped Mason on me, getting ready to go to Santa Fe with her own mother.

I watched as Jessica packed Mason’s favorite dinosaur pajamas into a backpack, barely glancing my way. The TV played reruns of Friends in the background, but the mood was anything but friendly.

Actually, since Mason was born—he’s three now—my daughter-in-law and her mother have been to Savannah, Denver, even Alaska.

I’d flipped through their vacation photos, smiling at Mason’s tiny parka in front of the Rockies, never once begrudging them the break. I was the go-to grandma, the fallback plan.

I was happy for them to travel and unwind, so every time I watched the child without complaint, letting them go off with peace of mind.

I’d stocked the fridge with apple juice and string cheese, read Goodnight Moon on repeat, and danced in the living room with Mason until we both collapsed in giggles. Their adventures became my routine.

But for this D.C. trip, I’d prepared for a month, and the tickets and hotel were non-refundable. I could only insist on going.

I took a deep breath and tried to stand my ground, even as Jessica’s eyes narrowed. The stakes felt higher this time—like if I caved now, I’d never get another chance.

My daughter-in-law wouldn’t listen at all and sent my son to talk to me.

She texted him in all caps, her phone lighting up with rapid-fire pings. I could hear him groan from the next room, the weight of family drama settling on his shoulders.

I thought it’d be easier to reason with my own child, so I explained everything—from the fake Capitol photo to grandma’s longing for D.C. all these years.

I tried to meet his eyes, hoping he’d remember all the stories I’d told him about his grandma growing up—how she’d picked cotton in the summer sun, how she’d dreamed of seeing the world.

Who knew my son would stab me right in the heart: "At your age, you still want to run off to D.C.? Did you find a boyfriend there? Want to get Mason a new grandpa?"

His words felt like ice water, shocking and cruel. I stared at him, stunned, wondering how we’d gotten here.

I was dumbfounded. "What did you say?"

I felt the old familiar ache in my chest, the one that came on whenever the world felt too heavy.

My son rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean."

He spoke with a kind of careless bravado, as if he was trying to protect himself by hurting me first.

I really had no idea.

I wanted to reach out, to shake some sense into him, but my hands just trembled at my sides.

I was shaking with anger. "Eric, say it clearly! Your father died early, and I raised you by myself, playing both mom and dad. Over the years, so many people tried to set me up with someone, but I never met a single one.

The words spilled out of me, years of hurt and pride tangled together. I remembered the whispers at PTA meetings, the pitying looks at church potlucks, the quiet strength it took to keep our family afloat.

I was afraid a stepfather would make you suffer. There’s so much gossip about widows—I wouldn’t even buy groceries from a man’s stall. Now you accuse me out of nowhere. Are you even human?"

I could feel tears stinging my eyes. The old taboos, the sacrifices—I’d done it all for him. Now he was twisting it into something shameful.

A guilty look flashed across my son’s face. He didn’t dare meet my eyes. "Then why do you have to go to D.C.? If you won’t give a reason, can you blame me for overthinking?"

He stared at the floor, scuffing his shoe against the tile. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him—caught between his wife’s expectations and his own insecurity.

My head was pounding.

The fluorescent kitchen light felt too bright, every sound magnified. I pressed a hand to my forehead, steadying myself against the counter.

"Didn’t I already tell you? Your grandma is old. I want to take her to see D.C."

I tried to keep my voice even, but the exhaustion seeped in. I just wanted him to understand—to see my heart for what it was.

My son sneered. "Is it really grandma who wants to go, or is it you? Grandma’s lived this long and never wanted to go to D.C. You’re the one pushing her, using her as an excuse. Aren’t you afraid of karma?"

He flung the words at me like accusations in a courtroom. I could feel Mason’s eyes on us, wide and anxious.

My grandson Mason was so scared he started crying. "Daddy’s so mean, Grandma don’t go, Grandma don’t go."

He buried his face in my leg, hiccuping, his little hands clutching my jeans.

I didn’t want to frighten the child, nor did I want to make a scene before leaving. I quickly packed my things and left the bedroom.

I scooped up my toiletries, zipped the suitcase, and gave Mason a shaky smile. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that grown-ups sometimes forget how to talk to each other.

My daughter-in-law was standing in the living room, arms crossed. "Mom, if you insist on going today, then don’t bother coming back."

She blocked the doorway, chin lifted, voice ice-cold. The TV was still on, but the sound seemed to fade away.

My lips trembled, my whole body aching as if I’d been beaten, even my calves hurt. "I’m just taking your grandma to D.C. I didn’t spring this on you last minute—I told you all a month ago."

I clutched my purse to my chest, trying to keep my dignity intact. I wished for a minute I could shrink, disappear into the cracks of the hardwood floor.

My daughter-in-law was still annoyed. "A month ago, who knew what would happen? Isn’t it just that I suddenly decided to go to Santa Fe?"

She shrugged, as if vacations could be swapped like dinner plans. I could feel the years of unspoken resentment simmering beneath her words.

"Why can’t you and your mother go to Santa Fe another time? Your grandma is old, she’s already unsteady on her feet. She can’t keep waiting."

I tried to appeal to her sense of fairness, hoping she’d remember what it felt like to want something just for herself.

My son rushed out of the bedroom. "Jessica, let her go! Didn’t you hear what she said? If grandma doesn’t go soon, she’ll die."

He sounded exasperated, voice cracking with frustration. For a second, I wondered if he even believed his own words.

My head was spinning. I couldn’t take it anymore and slapped my son’s flushed face. "Eric, what is wrong with you? Your grandma raised you, and this is how you treat her?"

The slap echoed louder than I meant it to, shocking us both. Mason’s sobs grew louder, and Jessica’s jaw dropped in disbelief. My hands shook with adrenaline and heartbreak.

Eric turned away, veins bulging in his neck. "Isn’t that what you said? Can’t wait any longer—doesn’t that mean she’s about to die?"

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. The words hung heavy in the room, like a cold front rolling in from the west.

Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t bear to look at this ungrateful son another second. "Even if you die, your grandma won’t!"

I grabbed my suitcase, biting back sobs, and walked out the front door. The porch light flickered above me, moths swirling in the humid air. I pressed the Uber app on my phone with trembling fingers, watching the little car icon inch toward my address.

Sitting in the Uber to my mother’s house, my chest was still tight and uncomfortable.

The Uber driver glanced at me in the rearview, probably used to late-night drama. Country music played low on the radio, and I counted the blinking Waffle House signs as we drove.

I don’t understand. I just want to help my mother fulfill her wish while she’s still healthy.

I watched the city lights flicker past, wondering when doing the right thing got so complicated. I thought about my mother’s smile, the way she’d light up at the sight of the Capitol. Was that so much to ask?

And I told them so far in advance—why can’t they understand me now?

I leaned my head against the window, the glass cool against my skin, and prayed that maybe someday, they’d see things my way.