“Don’t go alone,” I replied. “Have the hotel manager receive it and let Elise handle it.”
Mom protested.
“This is private family business!”
But Paige refused to open her door.
Eventually, the envelope was delivered through the appropriate channels.
The letter was genuine.
Grandma had written it for both of us.
She warned us not to let our parents turn us into rivals.
She told me not to feel guilty for seeking independence.
And she urged Paige not to mistake being needed for being loved.
Near the end, Grandma had written:
You can love each other without allowing the people who hurt you to control your lives.
I read those words repeatedly.
That evening, Paige and I cried together over a video call.
Not because everything was fixed.
But because, for the first time, we understood that we’d both grown up inside stories someone else had written for us.
