My son married a woman with two kids

“That you were our grandma. No matter what.”

I smile through the ache in my chest. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

We sit in silence, watching the sunset paint the sky orange and gold.

Inside the house, Lily’s baking something—badly. The fire alarm will go off any minute. Daniel is helping her, pretending not to notice she added salt instead of sugar.

And in the nursery, the baby—my son’s biological child—is cooing in his crib. They brought him over yesterday. Daniel said, “He should know his siblings. He should know you.”

I peeked in once, but didn’t pick him up.

Not yet.

Maybe someday.

But for now, my arms are full—with the ones who never stopped calling me Grandma.