“You made.S. me stop seeing Anna because you didn’t like her.”
“She was a bad influence.”
“You once refused to speak to me for eleven days because I applied to a university you hadn’t chosen.”
Grandpa sighed.
“You always exaggerate.”
Those words hit harder than any shout could have.
Mom’s face went pale.
Suddenly, I understood how someone could spend decades doubting their own memories.
Grandpa turned toward me.
“He was strict. That’s all. Your mother loves turning everything into some huge tragedy.”
“Enough.”
The voice came from behind him.
Grandma Margaret was standing near the beach chairs.
None of us had noticed her approaching.
Grandpa turned around.
“Margaret, stay out of this.”
But she didn’t.
She slowly walked toward us.
Her hands were trembling.
“Laura isn’t exaggerating.”
Mom stared at her in disbelief.
“Mom?”
Grandma’s eyes filled with tears.
“I knew.”
Silence.
Even Grandpa looked surprised.
“I knew about the letters,” Grandma continued. “I knew he searched your room. I knew he made you apologize even when you had done nothing wrong.”
Mom stared at her as though she had just been slapped.
“You knew?”
Grandma began to cry.
“Yes.”
“And you never said anything?”
“I was afraid of him too.”
Grandpa let out a mocking laugh.
“This is ridiculous.”
Grandma suddenly turned toward him.
“No, Daniel. What’s ridiculous is that I spent forty years calling fear ‘keeping the peace.’”
Nobody spoke.
Grandma looked back at Mom.
“He kept telling me that you had food, clothes, and a good school. I convinced myself that meant you were okay.”
Tears began rolling down Mom’s face.
“You watched me think I was crazy.”
“I know.”
