“Grandma never loved me,” said Jen, wiping laceworks of dust from her face as they emptied the attic.
“Why d’you say that?”
“I wasn’t good enough. She always said…”
Jack would’ve called it Grandma’s way of caring but didn’t dare. A hidden suitcase of photos only served to prove Jen’s point. “See. She didn’t even keep my pictures on display.”
Downstairs they watched a passing breeze set Grandma’s chair to rocking. Sunlight fell on a photo of Jen. “She loved you,” said Jack.
“She never even framed it.”
But written on the back: “My Jen, best part of my life.”