"Grandma?" I repeated.
This lake of teeming thoughts in my head roiled and surged, like a tempest was coming. And on it, this one translucent petal, the colour of beauty and just as fragile, was stormed and tossed, first one way, then another.
And that petal was a thought just as delicate, just as defenceless.
"When you first met Grandpa..."
Hush. Don't say no more.
Grandma looked at me, softly smiling.
She'd seen the petal.
"Grandma...how... when didya know...."
"Not straight away, Anna. But soon."
"But when you thought you loved him... were you sure?"
Neville Hunt about 3 years ago
Course she was sure.