When my husband, Mike, began taking our kids to visit his mother every Saturday, I didn’t think twice. It felt like a sweet gesture—time for the children to bond with their grandmother, Diane, who had been on her own since Mike’s father passed. Our kids, Ava and Ben, adored her. She baked cookies with them, played board games, and always made time for bedtime stories. Mike encouraged me to relax during those mornings, telling me it was their special tradition. And I appreciated the quiet.
But over time, something began to feel… off.
Diane, usually full of anecdotes about their visits, suddenly stopped sharing. When I asked about their weekends, she gave short, polite answers that felt oddly rehearsed. I chalked it up to grief or maybe just needing space. Still, the feeling lingered.
And then one moment changed everything.
One Saturday, as Mike and Ben waited in the car, Ava ran back inside to grab her jacket. I smiled and said, “Don’t forget to give Grandma a big hug!” She froze, looked at me seriously, and whispered, “Mommy, Grandma is just a secret code.”
My heart skipped a beat.
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