“I’m very sorry,” she said flatly. “But we spent eight thousand dollars on this trip. We can’t lose that money.”
“You’re choosing a vacation over your grandson’s funeral?”
“You’re being dramatic. You can handle this. You always do.”
She hung up.
Minutes later, Vanessa called.
“I heard you’re making a scene,” she said.
“My son just died.”
“I said I’m sorry, but we’re not canceling our trip.”
“He was your nephew.”
“And his death is your problem, not mine. I’m pregnant, Angela. This might be my last chance to relax before the baby.”
Something inside me went quiet.
“Don’t say his name again,” I said.
“Oh please,” she snapped. “If you want to drown in your grief, do it alone. I’m not ruining my happiness because your kid died.”
I hung up.
That night, I sat in Lucas’s room.
Surrounded by his trophies, his glove, his notebooks.
And I realized something terrible:
I hadn’t lost my family that day.
I had finally seen them.
