I gripped the glass of water so tightly I feared it might crack beneath my fingers.
My heart was pounding louder than my footsteps as I returned to the living room where my grandmother sat, her body curled inward like a wilting flower.
I looked at her and I can see how ages she has been.
She had been the only one taking care of me.
Her shoulders trembled slightly, and her gaze was fixed on the window as though it held the answers to all her silent prayers.
I walked in slowly, placing the glass on the table in front of her. “Here you go, Ma,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
She took the cup, her hands shaking as she held it. I could feel the words bubbling in my throat, begging to escape—the truth, the questions, the confusion—but I couldn’t say them. Not yet.
Instead, I sat
