The waitress, whose name tag I now noticed said “Tina,” took a breath like she was holding something in for years. Her jaw twitched slightly, as if she were working up the courage to speak.
“I’m sorry for what happened inside,” she said. “That wasn’t right.”
“It’s not,” she said quickly, her voice starting to shake. “But that’s not why I came out here. I… I need to ask you something. Is he… is the boy your biological grandson?”
I froze. Her question came out of nowhere and yet felt strangely pointed, like she already knew the answer but needed confirmation.
She saw my hesitation.Continue reading…
