Rebecca had always been the easiest one to read. Garrett’s daughter, but not built like him on the inside. She had his dark hair and my eyes, and from the time she was little she carried herself like someone who paid attention when other people were tired, embarrassed, or left out. When she was twelve, she had started texting me after family gatherings to make sure I got home safely. Nobody told her to do that. She simply did.
“I’m sorry,” she said into my shoulder. “I didn’t know. Dad told us plans changed.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
We went inside. I put the groceries away while she hovered at the kitchen table, too anxious to sit still.
“Can I see it?” she asked finally.
I knew what she meant. I handed her my phone.
She read Garrett’s message once, then again more slowly. Her face changed from confusion to disbelief to hurt so quickly it made me tired clear down to my bones.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “He really sent that.”
“Yes.”
She set the phone down very carefully, as if it had become something breakable.
“Mom said you weren’t feeling well and didn’t want company.”
I smiled without humor.
“That would have been kinder than the truth.”
Rebecca looked near tears.
“I’m so sorry, Grandma.”