Chapter 1: A Thursday That Changed Everything
Thursday had always been my favorite day of the week.

At 60 years old, routines are like old friends—predictable, comforting, familiar. On Thursdays, I didn’t work at the grocery store. I got to spend the afternoon with my granddaughter Olivia, while my daughter, Emily, ran errands or went to her yoga class or just took a breather from motherhood. Those hours with Olivia were a light in my week—bright, playful, and full of magic.

That particular Thursday began with the same joy I always felt: anticipation. I packed a small tote bag with a few coloring books, a pair of reading glasses, and the cookies Olivia liked best—my homemade oatmeal raisin, the ones Emily never let her eat too many of. I tied up my hair in its usual low bun, grabbed my navy blue cardigan, and drove my beat-up sedan the fifteen minutes across town to Riverside Heights.

It was a beautiful neighborhood. Big houses with white trim, flowerbeds that looked like magazine covers, driveways filled with luxury SUVs. And then there was my car, grumbling down the street like an old dog, the paint faded and one hubcap missing. I parked near the corner, just out of view of the front windows, like I always did.
I didn’t want to embarrass Emily.

I never wanted to be an embarrassment to anyone.

A Moment with Olivia
When I rang the doorbell, Olivia came running, her golden curls bouncing, her tiny hands wrapping around my waist like she hadn’t seen me in years instead of six days.
“Nana! You’re here!”

“I’m here, love,” I smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Emily greeted me with a distracted nod before rushing off to her Pilates class. It wasn’t unusual—she often had things to do, places to be. That was part of the deal. I didn’t mind.

We had a wonderful afternoon, just Olivia and me. We colored butterflies in a spiral-bound sketchbook. She showed me how she could tie her shoelaces without help—only it took her four tries, and I applauded anyway. We made peanut butter sandwiches and sat on the back patio while she told me about her friend Lucy, who had a pet snake. I listened like it was breaking news.

Time slipped away.

As the sky shifted to that late-afternoon honey gold, I packed up my tote bag and reached for my shoes at the front door.