I took every job I could—scrubbing toilets, waiting tables, pulling doubles—just to make ends meet.
Now, I have a four-year-old grandson named Max. He has the fluffiest curls and a gravelly little laugh that lights up even my darkest days. Just last week, he toddled over with one of his plastic walkie-talkies, his hands sticky from snacks.

For illustrative purpose only
“Grandma Annie, this is for you!”

I laughed. “And what’s this for, darling?”

“So we can talk at night! Just push the button and say my name!”

I clipped it to my apron and smiled. “I love it, sweetie.”

He clung to my legs like a koala. From the other side of the wall, I heard Lila calling him. We live next door to each other at Skyridge Apartments—same corridor, same squeaky boards.

I helped them buy that place five years back when Lila