Brandon stared at the page.
Then he held it up.
“Did you do this?”
Barbara lifted her chin.
“Yes.”
The room went completely silent.
“I corrected it,” she said. “I’m not her grandmother, and I never will be.”
Brandon’s jaw tightened.
He looked back at Lisa.
“Is this why you asked me about the baby?”
My stomach dropped.
Three days earlier, Lisa had asked Brandon something strange.
She wanted to know whether he would still love her if we had a baby together someday.
Neither of us had understood where the question came from.
She refused to explain.
Now she nodded.
“Barbara told me that when you have real kids, those will be her grandchildren.”
Brandon went completely still.
“She said they’ll matter more because they’re really yours.”
He turned toward Barbara.
“You told her WHAT?”
Barbara folded her arms.
“She’s exaggerating.”
“She’s seven.”
“I told her the truth. You’ll have children of your own someday. Children who carry your blood. Those will be my grandchildren.”
She shrugged.
“There is a difference.”
