One morning, I woke up determined to settle it. I scoured food safety sites. Some said butter could sit out for a day or two in cool temps. Others insisted on refrigeration. Our kitchen was 78°F. Not ideal.
When Braden shuffled in, robe askew, I showed him the articles.
He sighed. “Maribel, Grandma lived to 98. Maybe you’re worrying too much.”
Later that day, Odessa invited me for coffee. As we sipped from mismatched mugs, she mentioned something unsettling:
“Clarissa’s been posting cryptic stuff on Facebook—about people not respecting family traditions.”
Clarissa. My sister-in-law. We’d never been close, but this felt personal.
When I got home, I confronted Braden.
“Did you talk to Clarissa about the butter?”
He looked sheepish. “I might’ve said you were overreacting. I just needed to vent.”
