One afternoon, I found her crying beside the garage.
“Sweetheart, what happened?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing, Grandma.”
I reached toward her, but she stepped backward.
“Mom says you don’t want us here anymore.”
The words struck harder than I expected.
“Who told you that?”
June wiped her face with her sleeve.
“She said you’re trying to make Dad choose between you and us.”
I stood there beside the garage, with the smell of wet grass rising from the lawn, wondering how a child could have been made to believe such a thing.
“June, I’ve never wanted you to leave.”
She looked at me hopefully, then glanced toward the house.
“Please don’t tell Mom I said anything.”
Before I could answer, Vanessa opened the kitchen door.
“June! Inside. Now.”
The little girl hurried past me.
Vanessa remained in the doorway.
“I’d appreciate it if you stopped upsetting my daughter.”
I remember staring at her, searching for the woman I had welcomed into my family thirteen years earlier.
I could no longer find her.
Three weeks before the Sunday dinner, Vanessa began leaving brochures for assisted-living residences on the kitchen counter.
Some had swimming pools and gardens. Others advertised elegant dining rooms and organized excursions.
One brochure contained a handwritten note.
Available immediately. Deposit required.
I confronted Daniel that evening.
“Are you looking for somewhere to send me?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Mom, don’t make this difficult.”
“Answer the question.”
