We met at a park near Lady Bird Lake. Public. Neutral. Easy to leave.
Margaret stepped from a black car wearing simple slacks, flat shoes, and a nervous smile. No pearls. No estate authority. Just a grandmother holding four wrapped gifts and trying not to cry before the children reached her.
Olivia ran first.
Sophia followed at a dignified pace until Margaret opened a book signed by one of her favorite authors, at which point dignity lost the battle.
Ethan accepted a museum membership card and immediately asked about visitor policies.
Noah lingered near me.
Margaret did not approach him.
Instead, she set his gift on the picnic table and said, “This is yours. You can open it whenever you want.”
He eyed it suspiciously.
“What is it?”
“A flight logbook. For model helicopters. Or real ones someday.”
His face betrayed interest.
He opened it.
Inside the front cover, Margaret had written:
