“Of course.”
The door clicked shut.
The room held still.
Then Nora asked if they could go to the park.
My mother looked at me as if I owed her calm.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I said.
“Do not be dramatic,” she snapped. “Children need consequences.”
“She thought strange men were going to take her away.”
“Maybe now she’ll think twice.”
There it was.
Not a mistake.
Not panic.
Not a grandmother who had overreacted and now understood what she had done.
She had meant to scare my child.
Kendra looked down at Nora’s shoes.
My mother lifted her chin.
I knew that pose.
I had grown up under it.
My mother never threw plates or slammed doors.
She froze rooms.
She made feelings sound vulgar.
If I cried, she asked whether crying had solved anything.
If I defended myself, she said I was making a scene.
