Chapter 5
The next morning, I cleaned the apartment.
Not that there was much to clean. But I wanted everything to be perfect. I wiped down the counters. I made the bed with fresh sheets. I bought a small vase and put a single sunflower in it—Mia’s favorite, my seven-year-old granddaughter.
I was nervous.
More nervous than I had been about the legal notices, more nervous than the confrontation with Logan. Because children are honest. They don’t hide their feelings behind polite words or careful phrasing. If they were angry with me, they would say so. If they were confused, it would show on their faces.
At 10 a.m., there was a knock on the door.
I opened it.
Mia was standing there, holding her favorite stuffed rabbit. Behind her was Ethan, ten years old, trying to look cool and indifferent but failing. And behind them was Logan, carrying a tray of cookies.
“Grandpa!” Mia yelled, and she launched herself at me.
I caught her, and the smell of her shampoo—strawberries, just like always—hit me, and suddenly I was crying.
“Hey, peanut,” I said, hugging her tight.
Ethan shuffled his feet. “Hi, Grandpa.”
I put Mia down and ruffled Ethan’s hair. “Hey, big guy. Good to see you.”
Logan set the cookies on the counter. “Chelsea made them. Well, she bought them from the bakery and put them on a plate. But she wanted you to have them.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Peace offering,” Logan said quietly. “Or maybe she just feels guilty. Either way, the cookies are good.”
We sat in the living room. Mia climbed onto my lap immediately, chattering about school, about her rabbit, about how she had missed me. Ethan sat on the edge of the couch, watching me carefully.
“Grandpa?” he said after a few minutes.
“Yes, Ethan?”
“Are you mad at us?”
The question was so simple, so raw, that it took my breath away.
“Of course not,” I said, leaning forward so I could look him in the eye. “I could never be mad at you or your sister. Never.”
“Then why did you leave?” he asked. “Mom says you’re being mean. She says you don’t love us anymore.”
I glanced at Logan. He looked pained.
“Your mom and I have some… grown-up problems,” I said carefully. “But that has nothing to do with you. Nothing at all. I love you both more than anything in the world.”
“Then come home,” Mia said, squeezing my neck. “We can all be together again.”
I held her close.
“I can’t come home to that house, peanut,” I said softly. “But you can come here. Whenever you want. Any time. And your dad and I are going to make sure you still get to see me all the time. Okay?”
She nodded, but her lip was trembling.
Ethan was still watching me. “Dad says you and Mom are getting separated.”
“That’s right,” Logan said, speaking up. “It’s going to be different for a while. But we’re going to make it work. For you two.”
“Is it because of Grandpa?” Ethan asked.
“No,” Logan said firmly. “It’s because of things your mom and I did. Mistakes we made. Your grandpa has nothing to feel bad about. If anything… if anything, I’m the one who should be sorry.”
He looked at me.
“I am sorry, Dad. In front of the kids. For everything.”
I nodded. There was nothing else to say.
We spent the rest of the morning together. I took them to the park down the street. We played on the swings. We fed the ducks. Mia collected rocks and gave me the prettiest one—gray with white streaks, smooth from the water.
“For you,” she said. “So you don’t forget me.”
“I could never forget you,” I told her.
For lunch, we went to a small pizza place nearby. The kids ate pepperoni pizza and drank lemonade. Logan and I shared a salad and talked about practical things—school schedules, visitation, the house.
It felt almost normal.
Almost.
As we were leaving the restaurant, I saw her.
Chelsea was standing across the street, watching us. She was wearing sunglasses, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.
Logan saw her too.
“Stay here,” he said to the kids.
He walked outside. I followed him.
Chelsea took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were red, like she had been crying. But her expression was hard.
“Taking my children out without telling me?” she said, her voice cold.
“They’re my children too,” Logan said evenly. “And I told you this morning I was bringing them to see my dad.”
“You’re poisoning them against me,” she said, looking at me now. “You’re turning my own family against me.”
“No one is turning anyone against anyone,” I said. “I just want to see my grandchildren.”
“After what you did to us?” she laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You destroyed our lives, Albert. Our home, our security, everything. And now you’re here, playing the loving grandfather?”
“Mom,” Ethan said, coming up behind us. Mia was holding his hand.
Chelsea’s face softened when she saw the children. She knelt down and opened her arms.
“Come here, babies.”
They went to her, and she held them tight.
“We’re going home,” she said to them. Then she looked up at Logan, her voice like ice. “We’ll talk about this later. At the house. Alone.”
She stood up, took the children’s hands, and walked away. Mia looked back over her shoulder and waved. I waved back.
Logan watched them go, his shoulders slumping.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Not your fault,” I said.
But I knew it was going to get worse before it got better.
That afternoon, Fiona called.
“Chelsea’s attorney filed a motion,” she said. “She’s requesting a restraining order against you. Claims you’ve been harassing her and the children. Also, she’s asking the court to freeze your assets, alleging that you’re hiding funds that rightfully belong to the family.”
I closed my eyes.
“Is any of this going to stick?”
“Unlikely,” Fiona said. “She has no evidence of harassment. And the funds in question were earned and saved before your son was even married. But it’s going to make things messy. And expensive.”
“Of course it is.”
“The settlement meeting is still on for Friday,” she continued. “I’d suggest you let me handle it. Your son seems cooperative, but Chelsea is clearly in attack mode. If you’re in the room, she’ll just use it as an opportunity to emote.”
“I want to be there,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I’ve spent six years letting other people speak for me. It’s time I spoke for myself.”
Fiona was quiet for a moment.
“All right,” she said finally. “But you let me lead. And if she starts attacking you, you don’t engage. You let me handle it. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good. And Albert?”
“Yes?”
“Bring the sunflower rock your granddaughter gave you,” she said. “Sometimes the best evidence in family court is the truth of who you really are.”
I looked at the rock on my kitchen counter, next to Eleanor’s photograph.
“I will,” I said.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept replaying the day. Mia’s hug. Ethan’s question. Chelsea’s cold eyes.
I thought about what Fiona had said. About how messy and expensive this was going to be.
But then I thought about Logan’s tears. About the way he had stood up to Chelsea. About Mia’s small hand in mine.
And I knew.
No matter what happened, no matter how hard it got, I was on the right path.
I picked up the rock and ran my thumb over its smooth surface.
May you like
For you, I thought. For all of us.
I set the rock down, closed my eyes, and finally slept.
