Four years ago, when he had arranged the engagement between Joanne and Jeffrey, the entire family had opposed it. Christina never raised her voice like the others. She hadn't fought him, nor did she speak harshly of Joanne.
But she didn't support him either. She'd done what he asked, yes, but never with the warmth he had hoped for. Her silences were her protest—gentle, quiet, and yet so unmistakably firm.
Christina's hands stilled. Her fingers loosened from the knitting needles, and she looked at her husband, her eyes laced with regret.
"I'm sorry…" she said softly.
She had acted blindly then. When she saw her grandson, her sweet Jeffrey, walking around with sorrow etched on his face like it had been carved in stone, she couldn't bear it. She had raised him. She had wiped his tears, taught him to stand tall. How could she watch him being forced into a marriage he didn't want?
But she hadn't seen the whole picture—not then.
