“This is your chance,” I said gently. “Be her grandmother. Let her be the bridge, the fresh start that we all need.”
Susan stood there for a moment, the conflict evident in her eyes. Then, with a resigned nod, she took a step back, as if retreating from the battlefield we had unintentionally created. She looked at my daughter again, this time with something resembling acceptance—a tentative, fragile truce.
“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” she murmured, turning to leave the room.
As the door closed behind her, I exhaled deeply, relief mingling with the exhaustion that swept over me. It wasn’t a victory, not quite. But it was enough. Enough to hope that maybe, just maybe, things could change.
In the quiet that followed, I cradled my daughter closer, promising her a future that was ours to shape—together, as a family, come what may.