My Granddaughter Ignored My Handmade Gift—But The Next Day, I Found It In Pieces

That night, I didn’t sleep. The next few days were quiet. No calls, no messages.

I tried not to be petty, but the pain felt like something sharp under my ribs. I raised that girl. I babysat her while Maris worked two jobs.

I taught her to braid, to bake. And when her friends ditched her in seventh grade, it was my arms she cried into. And now, a car meant more than that?

Than me? I didn’t tell anyone—not even my church ladies, who I usually confide everything to. I couldn’t even look at the yarn basket by my couch.Continue reading…