08/23/2025
I had my daughter, Sarah, when I was forty. She was my miracle baby—my one and only. Sarah grew up kind, smart, and full of life. At thirty-one, she was finally expecting her own child. But last year, during childbirth, I lost her. She never got to hold her little girl. Her boyfriend couldn't handle the responsibility. He walked away, leaving me as the sole guardian. All he does now is send a small check each month, barely enough for diapers. So it's me and baby Amy—I named her after my mother. I may be old and tired, but Amy has no one else in this world but me. Yesterday, after another exhausting visit to the pediatrician, I ducked into a small café to rest my back and feed Amy her bottle. Outside, the rain kept pouring down, streaking the windows, the kind of steady drizzle that makes you feel even more trapped. She started fussing, so I cradled her and whispered softly, "Shh, Grandma's here." Before I could even settle her down, a woman at the next table wrinkled her nose and said loudly: "THIS ISN'T A DAYCARE. SOME OF US CAME HERE TO RELAX, NOT WATCH... THAT." My cheeks burned. I rocked Amy closer, trying to ignore the sting in her words. But then the man with her—maybe her boyfriend, maybe her friend—leaned forward, his voice cutting through the café like a knife: "YEAH, WHY DON'T YOU TAKE YOUR CRYING BABY AND LEAVE? SOME OF US PAY GOOD MONEY NOT TO LISTEN TO THIS." I felt everyone's eyes on me, on Amy's tiny fists clutching at me. My throat tightened—I wanted to disappear, but where could I go? Outside? Into the cold rain, with a bottle and a baby in my arms? I pulled the bottle from my bag with shaking hands and started feeding Amy. Suddenly, the waitress appeared at my side, holding a tray. She didn't meet my eyes when she spoke: "MA'AM, MAYBE IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU... FINISHED FEEDING HER OUTSIDE." My hands trembled. The bottle nearly slipped. And then it happened. I felt Amy stop fussing. Her little body went still, her eyes suddenly wide open, as if listening to something I couldn't hear. She reached out her tiny hand—not toward me. I lifted my head to follow her gaze. And that's when I saw it.