I grew up in foster care while my sister stayed with our father – years later, she took me to his house and said, "If you go in there…you'll be in danger." - Page 6 of 12

Barbara’s grip tightened. “Wait. If you go in without knowing this… you’ll be in danger.”
“She’ll drive you crazy.”
“In danger,” I repeated. “From an old lady?”
“Not physical,” she said quickly. “She’ll drive you crazy. She’ll make you feel like you’re the problem. Don’t let her rewrite what happened.”
“If she had a part in making me leave,” I said, “I’d rather hear it from her.”
Barbara swallowed hard. “Just… promise you won’t believe her.”
She looked me up and down as if I were a nuisance.
“I’ll try,” I said, and went out anyway.
The inside looked like any grandmother’s house: lace curtains, framed photos, that clean, old-fashioned smell.
In the living room, an older woman sat bolt upright in a chair as if waiting to scold someone.
Iron-gray hair. Pearls. Tight-lipped mouth.
She looked me up and down as if I were a nuisance.
“You must be Alan,” she said coldly. “You should have waited outside. This is very stressful for your father.”
“I told you it was a bad idea.”
No greeting. No warmth. Nothing.
Barbara stepped forward. “Grandma—”
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Grandma snapped. “We signed the papers for a reason. We did what was best for everyone. To bring this up again is selfish.”
“We?” I said. “We signed papers?”
Grandma waved her hand. “Everything was handled properly.”