“He doesn’t have to check in every day.”
The cat blinked at me from the windowsill and said nothing.
That was when my phone buzzed on the counter.
Instead, the screen lit up with a name I had been waiting weeks to see.
Elliot was finally calling.
There was a pause. Then his voice came through, flat and careful.
“Mom, maybe sit this summer out.”
I laughed. He had never said anything like that in his life.
“Very funny.
I already bought Bob’s train set.”
“I’m serious. The kids told me they don’t want you here this year. They said you’re too much.
I’m sorry, Mom. We have to listen to them.”
My hand tightened on the phone. I couldn’t breathe.
“Elliot, I was just there in December.
Emma fell asleep on my chest. Bob made me pinky promise.”
“Kids change their minds, Mom.”
“In four months? Both of them?
About me?”
He sighed, the kind of sigh I used to hear when he was a teenager.
The line went quiet. I sat down on the kitchen stool because my legs felt strange underneath me.
That night, I did not sleep. I scrolled through every text we had exchanged since Christmas, looking for the moment I had ruined everything.
Had I stayed too long in December?
Had Bob really cried when I left, or had I imagined that too?
The second night was worse. I caught myself wondering if I really was forgetting things. If my own memories were lying to me.
Maybe Elliot was right.
Maybe I was too much.
On the fourth day, my tablet rang. The little chime meant a video call from Emma’s room.
I answered before the second ring.
“Hi, baby.”
Emma’s face was close to the screen, her hair messy, her eyes wide. She was whispering.
“Grandma, Daddy thinks I’m napping.
I hid the tablet under my pillow so I could call you.”
“Emma, what—”
“If Daddy sold the presents you sent us, does that mean you’re still mad at us?”
My hand went numb. The tablet wobbled in my grip.
“Mad? Presents?
Emma, what is going on?”
“He took the dollhouse. And Bob’s train. He put them in boxes, and a lady came and gave him money.”
“What lady?
Emma, sweetheart, slow down.”
“Help us, please.”
I heard a door slam somewhere behind her.
Then her bedroom door flew open.
Elliot stepped into the frame. A smile pulled at his mouth, but his eyes were furious.
“Hi, Mom. Didn’t know Emma had her tablet.”
“Elliot, what is she talking about?”
“Nothing.
She gets confused. Right, Em?”
Emma didn’t answer. She was looking at the floor.
“Say goodbye to Grandma.
Now,” he said.
“Elliot, please, just let her finish.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
The screen went black.
I stared at my own reflection in the dark glass. An old woman with shaking hands and tears she had not noticed falling.
Selling the presents. A strange lady.
Help us, please.
I stood up. I walked to the hook by the door. I took down my car keys.
“Forgetful, am I?” I said out loud to the empty kitchen.
I grabbed my purse.
I did not pack a bag. I did not call ahead.
I locked the front door behind me and walked to the driveway in my house slippers, then turned back and put on real shoes because I was not going to arrive at my son’s house looking like a woman who could be dismissed.
Emma’s whisper kept playing in my ears as I backed out of the driveway and pointed the car toward the highway.
Help us, please.
I hit the gas.
Three hours of highway blurred past as I crossed into the next state. By the time I pulled into Elliot’s driveway, the sun was sinking, and a strange truck sat where his car usually parked.
I could hear voices inside.
Furniture scraping. A woman’s sharp instructions.
I didn’t knock. I pushed the door open and stepped into chaos.
Boxes were stacked to the ceiling.
Two men in work shirts carried Elliot’s leather chair toward the hallway. A tall woman with a clipboard turned toward me, unbothered.
“Can I help you?” she asked, like I was a stranger on her property.
Elliot appeared in the kitchen doorway. He froze the second our eyes met.
“Mom.
What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? Why is half your house in boxes?”
Before he could answer, two small bodies slammed into my legs. Emma.
Bob. Bob was crying into my sweater.
“Grandma, you came,” Emma whispered.
“Daddy sold my train,” Bob sobbed. “The one you sent.
He sold them to the lady. The dollhouse too.”
