The letter went out on a Friday afternoon. By Saturday morning, I had twenty-three missed calls from Avery. I didn’t answer any of them. Instead, I went to my volunteer shift at the animal shelter, walking dogs and cleaning kennels while my phone vibrated endlessly in my locker. When I finally listened to the messages that evening, they ranged from confused to angry to almost threatening.
The most painful message was from Sophie: “Grandma, I don’t understand what’s going on. Mom and Dad are really upset. They said you sent some kind of legal letter about the wedding. I thought you were happy to help us. If there’s a problem, can’t we just talk about it? Please call me back. I’m worried about you.”
She was worried about me—not because she cared, but because her parents were upset and the money supply might be threatened.
Sunday morning, Avery and Taylor showed up at my door. I kept the chain lock on. “Mom, we need to talk,” Avery said desperately. “That letter was insulting. We would never try to exclude you.”
“Then why did you request that vendors stop communicating with me?” I asked through the gap in the door.