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She approached as if she were walking through glass.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice cracked, just barely.
“We were so mean,” she said. “And we thought it was harmless.
But it wasn’t. And I… I’m sorry.”
Behind her were others.
Tyler, who once drew a cartoon of my grandma holding a mop. Marcus, who used to joke about “my five-star cafeteria chef.” Even Zoey, who once made a TikTok mocking my grandma’s voice.
They all looked the same now — red-eyed, ashamed, and small.
“We didn’t think,” Zoey mumbled. “She was just…
always there.”
Tyler nodded. “And we took her for granted. I feel sick about it.”
Part of me wanted to scream. Another part wanted to tell them they didn’t deserve to feel sad. But then I thought of Grandma.
I thought of her calling the kids “sweetheart” even when they didn’t answer.
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