Chapter 7 - The Message Lucy Didn’t Answer
Mother did not become reasonable after the meeting.
For three days, she sent brief messages about practical matters.
Then the grief arrived.
Not grief for what she had done.
Grief for how differently everyone was treating her.
I can’t sleep.
Your grandfather thinks I’m a terrible mother.
Paige barely calls.
I read each one.
I answered only when there was an actual question I could address.
That restraint felt cruel at first.
Then it felt necessary.
A week later, Lucy brought me her tablet.
Her face was pale.
“Grandma messaged.”
I took it.
Mother had used an old family chat I had forgotten was connected to Lucy’s account.
The message read:
I miss you, sweetheart. I hope you know Grandma never wanted to leave you out. Sometimes adults get upset and make decisions that hurt everyone. Maybe you can remind Mom how much our family vacations mean to us.
I read it once.
Then again.
Lucy watched me.
“Am I supposed to fix it?”
The question hurt more than anything Mother had said to me directly.
“No.”
“She said maybe I could remind you.”
“That is not your job.”
“Will she be sad if I don’t answer?”
I put the tablet down.
“She might be sad. Adults are responsible for handling their own sadness.”
Lucy’s eyes filled.
“But I love her.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want her to think I don’t.”
I pulled her close.
“You never have to prove you love someone by helping them pressure your mother.”
She cried against my shoulder.
I held her until she was finished.
Then we changed the settings together.
I did not grab the tablet or make contact with Grandma sound dangerous.
I explained that adults needed to speak to adults about the disagreement.
Lucy nodded.
“Can I still send her my school picture later?”
“Yes. When you want to, and when we’ve agreed on a way that feels comfortable.”
That evening, I called Mother.
She answered brightly.
“Erin.”
“Do not ask Lucy to intervene.”
The brightness disappeared.
“I only told her I missed her.”
“I read the message.”
“You’re taking it wrong.”
“Then let me make the boundary clear. You may not ask either child to persuade me, keep secrets, carry messages, or manage your feelings about this.”
“She’s my granddaughter.”
“She is twelve.”
Mother inhaled sharply.
“You’re using the children against me.”
“No. I’m keeping them out of the argument.”
She cried.
For once, I did not explain the boundary six different ways in the hope that one version would hurt less.
“I’ll contact you when we’re ready to arrange a visit. Until then, messages come through me.”
I ended the call.
Then I sat on the kitchen floor and shook.
Boundaries sounded confident when other people described them.
Inside my own body, they felt like jumping off something high and hoping the ground had changed.
Paige called the next day.
I expected another defense of Mother.
Instead, she said, “She contacted Lucy?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not okay.”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
Paige was quiet.
Then she asked whether we could meet for coffee.
I agreed.
She arrived without makeup and looked as if she had barely slept.
“Caleb and I are repaying the studio money.”
“To whom?”
“Into the account Dad’s setting up for the refunds. We’ll work out the amounts with the accountant.”
“You don’t have to tell me your budget.”
“I know. I wanted you to know I’m not keeping something I didn’t have the right to accept.”
I looked at her.
It was the first time she had described the money without blaming the misunderstanding.
She twisted her cup.
“I’ve been thinking about the bunk room.”
I waited.
“I told Mom Caleb’s parents would be more comfortable upstairs. She said she’d work it out.”
“And you didn’t ask what that meant.”
“No.”
My chest tightened.
“When she said you weren’t coming, I was relieved.”
There it was.
The confession I had needed and dreaded.
Paige began to cry.
“I wanted one week where I didn’t feel like the younger sister who still needed help.”
I stared at her.
“So you accepted a week where my children didn’t belong.”
“Yes.”
The word sat between us.
I did not soften it.
Neither did she.
Finally, I said, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Can we fix it?”
I looked through the café window.
“Maybe. But fixing it can’t mean getting back to the arrangement that hurt us.”
May you like
Paige nodded.
For once, she did not ask me how long it would take.
