“I’m not.”
That became his answer to almost everything.
Nothing was wrong.
Grandma hadn’t done anything.
He wasn’t acting strangely.
He simply wanted to be near his sister.
Meanwhile, Diane’s comments about Brenda became more frequent.
They weren’t openly cruel.
That might have made them easier to recognize.
Instead, they sounded like concern.
One morning, Brenda was asleep against my chest while I drank coffee, trying desperately to keep my eyes open.
Diane looked at me.
“You look exhausted.”
“I have a newborn.”
“I know.”
Then she hesitated.
“But things may be different with Brenda. She might need more from you than another child would.”
I immediately became defensive.
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to be realistic.”
“She’s two weeks old, Diane.”
Another day, after I’d barely slept, Diane sighed and said,
“I’m only saying that sometimes love isn’t enough.”
