PART 13 – Grandma Finally Put the Wooden Picture Frame on the Table, but Before We Took Our Photograph, I Had One More Thing I Needed to Tell Her

When we arrived home, Grandma placed the wooden frame on the dining table.

It was still inside its little cardboard box.

I kept looking at it.

It was an ordinary frame.

Nothing expensive.

But I liked the idea of having a photograph where nobody had to pretend I wasn't there.

My aunt helped me take off my shoes.

Then she asked whether I wanted something to eat.

I said I wasn't hungry.

Grandma didn't insist.

She went to the kitchen and made tea.

I sat at the table with Lily.

Her repaired arm was slightly different from the other one.

Sometimes it moved loosely.

But I didn't mind.

I had started thinking that something could still be loved even if it wasn't exactly as it had been before.

Grandma returned with two cups.

She placed one in front of my aunt and another beside me.

Then she opened the picture frame.

"Shall we take our photograph now?"

I nodded.

She picked up her phone.

I stood beside her.

She put one arm around my shoulders.

I held Lily in front of my dress.

The first picture came out blurry.

Grandma laughed.

"Apparently, my hands aren't as steady as they used to be."

I laughed too.

We tried again.

This time, the photograph was clear.

I was smiling.

Grandma was smiling.

Lily was between us.

Nobody was hiding.

Grandma looked at the picture.

"That's a lovely one."

I nodded.

"Can we print it?"

"Of course."

She placed the phone on the table.

Then she noticed that I had become quiet.

"What's wrong?"

I rubbed the edge of Lily's dress.

"There is something I haven't told you."

Grandma sat down.

"All right."

I looked toward the kitchen.

My aunt was putting the cups away.

I lowered my voice.

"Before Dad's birthday, I thought he would be happy if I looked better."

Grandma didn't interrupt.

"I tried to fix my dress. I washed my face. I even tried to cover the purple mark."

My voice became smaller.

"But it didn't go away."

Grandma reached for my hand.

I continued.

"I thought if I looked normal, he would let me come downstairs."

She closed her eyes briefly.

I didn't want her to cry.

So I quickly added something else.

"I wanted him to be proud of me."

Grandma looked at me.

"Sweetheart, you never had to earn your place in that family."

I stared at the table.

I had heard similar words before.

But this time, I wanted to understand them.

Grandma continued.

"Your father should have protected you. He should have listened when you were hurting. He should never have made you feel that your appearance was something to be ashamed of."

I nodded.

Then I asked whether she thought Dad could change.

Grandma took her time answering.

"I hope he can. But change takes more than saying the right words."

I looked at our photograph again.

"Does he have to prove it?"

"Yes."

That answer made me feel better.

Not because I wanted Dad to suffer.

I didn't.

I simply wanted to know that I wouldn't have to go through the same thing again.

Later that afternoon, my aunt brought the printed photograph.

Grandma had arranged for it to be printed at a nearby shop.

The picture looked beautiful.

She placed it inside the wooden frame.

Then she set it on the shelf near the family album.

I stood beside her.

"Can everyone see it?"

Grandma smiled.

"Everyone who comes into this house can see it."

I looked at the photograph.

My dress was neat.

My hair was brushed.

My cheek still had a faint mark.

My wrists were still healing.

But Grandma hadn't asked to take another picture.

She hadn't asked me to cover anything.

She had simply put the photograph where it belonged.

That evening, Dad sent a message asking whether I was feeling better.

Grandma showed me the message.

She didn't tell me what to answer.

I thought about it.

Then I said I wanted to reply.

She helped me write a short message.

I told him I was feeling better and that I had taken a photograph with Grandma.

He replied a few minutes later.

He asked whether he could see it.

I looked at Grandma.

She said I could decide whether to share it.

I sent him the picture.

He didn't reply immediately.

I put the phone down.

I wasn't waiting for him anymore.

Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Dad Asked to See the Photograph, but His Next Visit Showed Me That an Apology Was Easier to Say Than to Live