During The Party, My Dad Raised A Toast For My Sister-In-Law’s Son, Speaking As If He Were The Only Grandchild In The Room. Then My Brother And Sister-In-Law Added, “Family Tradition Matters A Lot To Us.” My Daughter Turned To Look At Me, My Husband Lowered His Head And Kept Eating. Then I Spoke Up, And The Whole Family Was Left In Surprised Silence…”

“By you and Dad,” she said.

“Yes,” I told her. “And by people who see you. The people who really see you.”

Rose nodded slowly. Then she surprised me by lifting her shoulders in a tiny shrug.

“It’s okay,” she said, and I could hear how hard she was trying to sound brave. “I don’t need Grandpa Gerald.”

That sentence hit me harder than the toast ever could have.

Because I knew exactly where she learned it.

From me.

From the way I had learned to say the same thing in my own head, over and over, until it didn’t sound like loss anymore, just routine.

That night after Rose went to bed, I sat on the couch with Nathan and stared at the glow of the Christmas lights still hanging along our mantel. We hadn’t taken them down yet. We were dragging our feet like the season itself was something we needed a little longer, even after it hurt.

Nathan leaned back, rubbing his thumb along the side of my hand.

“I hate that she’s already learning that kind of detachment,” he said quietly.

I nodded.

“So do I,” I whispered.