My granddaughter has never called me on her own. That’s why, when her tiny voice whispered, “Grandma… Mommy’s pretending she’s not scared,” dread hit me before she even finished the sentence. Then the call cut off.
I called back — nothing. Texted — nothing. Within seconds I was grabbing my keys and speeding toward their house, praying I was overreacting.
When I arrived, the house was pitch black. The door was unlocked. No voices. No movement.
“Emma?”
“Lila?”
Silence.
Then I heard it: running water behind the bathroom door.
I raised my hand to knock, and a scream ripped through the house — Lila’s scream.
I didn’t even think. I burst through the door—
And froze.
Emma was standing on the toilet with a mop raised like a weapon. Lila was in the corner, pointing at the floor. Both looked like they were in a horror movie.
“SPIDERS,” Emma gasped. “Huge ones.”
I stared at her, trying to slow my heartbeat. “I drove here like a maniac… for spiders?!”
Lila nodded seriously. “Mommy was pretending she wasn’t scared.”
Emma groaned into her hands. “I didn’t want to freak her out.”
“Well,” I said, “she freaked ME out.”
We all laughed — the shaky kind that comes when panic dissolves into relief.
That night, we made popcorn in our pajamas and stayed up together. Lila camped out beside me, her curls spilling across her blanket.
Before falling asleep, she whispered, “Next time, Grandma, I’ll call you BEFORE the spiders get here.”
I kissed her forehead. “Deal.”
And I realized something:
Love looks different every day.
Sometimes it’s bedtime stories.
Sometimes it’s flying through red lights.
Sometimes it’s slaying imaginary monsters — or very real spiders.
But the best moments are the ones where we end up together, safe, laughing, doing life the best we can.