Still, the Reynolds world knew.
And that was enough.
Margaret called every Sunday.
At first, the children treated the calls like diplomatic negotiations.
“Do we have to call her Grandma?” Sophia asked.
“No,” I said. “You can call her whatever feels right.”
“Mrs. Reynolds sounds like school,” Ethan said.
“Grandma sounds like she was there,” Noah muttered.
Olivia, coloring a horse purple at the kitchen table, said, “I’m calling her Grandma because she sends glitter markers.”
And so she became Grandma to Olivia first.
Then Grandma Margaret to Sophia.
Then Grandma M to Ethan, who liked labels.
Noah held out the longest.
He called her “the cookie lady” for two months.
Margaret accepted every title like a medal.
She did not push. That mattered.
She asked what they liked. She remembered answers. She mailed books to Sophia, science kits to Ethan, art supplies to Olivia, and for Noah, a wooden model helicopter that took two weekends and several dramatic speeches to assemble.
