At 76, Grandpa already worked long shifts stocking shelves. After the crash, he started taking extra hours and pulled my grandmother’s sewing machine from the closet.
At night, he made children’s blankets and lap quilts. On weekends, we sold them at the flea market.
One night, I found him sewing at two in the morning, his fingers swollen.
“You worked all day.”
“Your therapy comes first, Maisie.”
“You matter too.”
“You worked all day.”
***
Three days before Cole appeared, I was gripping the parallel bars during a session.
My left knee buckled.
Grandpa lunged.
“I had it,” I snapped, catching myself with my arms.
“I saw.”
“You moved.”
