Robert never openly said he was embarrassed by me. But I could feel it.
Whenever we visited relatives, he walked several steps ahead of me. In family photographs, he avoided standing beside me. And whenever someone made a joke about my weight, he remained silent.
The only person who never made me feel uncomfortable was my eight-month-old granddaughter, Lily.
My daughter, Sarah, had recently returned to work, and I’d offered to take care of the baby three days a week.
Lily could sit in my arms for hours. Sometimes her tiny fingers would grab my cheeks, and she’d laugh so sweetly that I forgot every cruel word anyone had ever said about me.
But one evening, everything changed.
Sarah and her husband had come to pick up Lily. I was in the kitchen when I heard Robert raise his voice.
“Sarah, starting tomorrow, you’re not leaving the baby here alone anymore.”