My hands trembled.
I unfolded it.
A drawing.
Two women stood beneath a tree.
One had silver hair.
The other wore yellow shoes.
Above them, in a child's uneven handwriting, were the words:
ME AND GRANDMA MARGARET.
I couldn't breathe.
Lucy looked nervous.
“Is it okay that I wrote Grandma?”
The room blurred.
I stared at the drawing.
At the little girl.
At the family I'd never known existed.
Then I whispered:
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She took a step backward.
“I'm sorry.”
I shook my head quickly.
“No.”
I reached for her hands.
“No, darling. You haven't done anything wrong.”
Her lips trembled.
“Grandpa said you might not want to meet us.”
My heart shattered.
I pulled her gently toward me.
“I didn't know you were there.”
Lucy looked up.
“Would you have wanted to know?”
I couldn't answer immediately.
Because the truth was complicated.
I was angry.
Grieving.
Confused.
I didn't know what relationship I could have with Julian.
