There was a pause.
Then he said, too quickly, “She’s not feeling camera-ready lately.”
I laughed. “That bad?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That bad.”
Now I know he was lying. Back then, I believed him because I wanted to.
The morning the baby was born, Daniel called me before sunrise.
“Mom,” he said, voice cracking, “he’s here.”
I sat straight up in bed. “Is Nora okay?”
“She’s okay. Tired, but okay.”
“And the baby?”
A pause.
“He’s perfect,” Daniel whispered.
I was in the car so fast I barely remember the drive.
By the time I reached the hospital, my hands were shaking. I had brought a soft blue blanket weeks earlier, with “Grandma Loves You Already” stitched into the corner. I kept looking at it in the elevator like I needed proof this was real.
When I walked into the room, Daniel was standing beside Nora’s bed. His eyes were red. Nora looked exhausted but happy.
Then Daniel lifted the baby from the bassinet and placed him in my arms.
He was perfect.
Warm. Tiny. Dark hair.
Little fingers curling against my blouse.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Hi there. Grandma’s finally here.”
I cried so hard Daniel laughed. Then Nora laughed too. For one perfect minute, we were just a family around a new baby.
Daniel kissed the top of my head. “Thanks for coming, Mom.”
I looked up at him through tears. “There is nowhere else I would be.”
A little later, after things settled, I stepped into the hallway to get myself together.
One of the nurses was standing by the station, writing on a clipboard.
I smiled at her. “My son is Daniel. I just wanted to say thank you. Everyone’s been wonderful.”
She looked up. “Daniel? Yes, I remember him.”
I nodded proudly. “Today’s my first grandchild.”
Her expression changed.
Not all at once. Just a flick
