His words brought back a memory from four years earlier.
Three days after my son’s funeral, Lisa cornered me.
“I need Walter to live with me.”
“You needed money last week.”
“This isn’t about money.”
“Then what is it about?”
“He’s my brother’s son.”
“And I’m his grandmother.”
“You’re not exactly young, Mom.”
“And you are. You go out, chase your business, worry about money. Since when do you want to raise a nine-year-old?”
“Maybe I’m ready for something more than that.”
“You barely call him, Lisa.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“You didn’t care enough to show up. So why do you suddenly want him living with you?”
Lisa’s expression hardened. “I’m going to fight for my nephew.”
“Lisa…”
“I’ll see you in court.”
She grabbed her purse and left.
In the end, guardianship went to me.
