My son married a woman with two kids

“Grandma,” he says softly, like he’s testing the word again. “I—I missed you.”

I step outside, tears stinging my eyes before I can even process the words. “Zach,” I breathe. “Oh honey, you don’t have to sneak around. You’re always welcome here.”

His shoulders relax, just a little. He glances over his shoulder like someone might be watching, then walks into my arms, letting me hug him tight. For a moment, I don’t care about the past. I don’t care about what his mother said. All I care about is this boy, who still thinks of me as family.

We sit on the porch swing. The autumn air is crisp and smells of burning leaves. Zach kicks his feet nervously. “Mom doesn’t know I’m here. She’d flip.”

I sigh. “I figured. Is everything okay at home?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then he mumbles, “Not really.”

I wait. I know better than to push. He fiddles with the frayed sleeve of his hoodie. “She’s… different. Ever since the baby. It’s like, me and Lily—we don’t exist anymore. She yells a lot. Gets mad over nothing. She even told Lily she was ‘just a leftover.’” He looks away, blinking hard. “I didn’t know parents could say stuff like that.”

My heart twists. I want to march over there and shake some sense into her. But I keep my voice calm. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That’s not okay. You and Lily are not leftovers. You’re loved. You hear me?”

He nods, barely.

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