My name is Margaret, and if someone had told me twenty years ago that I’d be raising my grandson alone after my son-in-law walked away, I wouldn’t have believed them. But life doesn’t ask permission before it changes everything.
For most of my life, I was the quiet one — the town librarian who baked blueberry muffins on Fridays and knitted baby blankets for every church baptism. I loved calm days, shelves in order, and the peace that comes with small routines. When my husband passed from cancer at just 42, my world went dark. The only light that kept me moving was my daughter, Anna — my reflection, my strength, my everything.
Anna had her father’s smile and my stubborn streak. By her late twenties, she had a good career, a cozy home nearby, and a little boy who filled every corner with laughter. My grandson, Ethan. He was joy in motion — curious, bright, and endlessly loved.
And then, in a moment no one could have imagined, everything changed.
Anna’s plane went down during a business trip. One moment, she was calling to tell me Ethan had learned to tie his shoes; the next, her voice was gone forever. The days that followed were a blur — broken glass, trembling hands, and silence that felt like the end of the world.
Continue reading on next page…