As my DIL reached for a 2nd slice of pie, I jokingly said, “Careful, dear! At this rate, we’ll need a bigger chair for you next time!” She turned red and left the table. My son, furious, said, “That’s mean, Mom! You owe her an apology.” I brushed it off. Later, I went to check on her — I froze as I saw her sitting on the edge of the guest bed, holding back tears, a half-folded piece of paper in her hands.
I opened my mouth to say something, but the words got stuck. For a moment, all I could do was stand there, watching her shoulders shake. She didn’t hear me come in. Or maybe she did, but didn’t care.
