Chapter 10 - Linda’s Empty Chair
Lily’s first Christmas became the next test.
Linda wanted to come.
I wasn't sure.
Daniel didn't pressure me.
That was why I eventually agreed.
The rules were simple.
Three hours.
No overnight stay.
No posting Lily online.
No comments about grandsons.
No unsolicited parenting advice.
Rachel called it “the Geneva Convention of Christmas.”
Linda followed every rule.
She arrived with one present for Lily.
Not twenty.
One.
A wooden music box.
She asked before holding her.
She asked before taking a photograph.
She asked before feeding her.
Watching Linda learn to ask permission was almost surreal.
At dinner, an uncle joked:
“Daniel, better luck getting your boy next time.”
The entire table froze.
Old Linda might have laughed.
New Linda put down her fork.
“What exactly is wrong with the granddaughter we already have?”
The uncle turned red.
“Nothing. I was joking.”
“It wasn't funny.”
I looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked at me.
Neither of us said anything.
We didn't need to.
Later, Linda approached me in the kitchen.
“I hope that was okay.”
“What?”
“What I said.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Then quietly:
“I should've said it at the shower.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
There was no dramatic hug.
No instant forgiveness.
But when she left that night, the chair she had occupied no longer felt like a threat.
It was simply a chair.
May you like
And that was progress.
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