My sister came to visit, and my grandson clung to her youthful hand, pleading, "Aunt Julieta, when are you and Grandpa going to take me to the amusement park again?"

My daughter-in-law quickly tried to silence him, while my son insisted I must have misheard. My husband looked apologetic, but it was directed toward my sister, who was dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

Reflecting on my life, I have served my in-laws, raised children, and looked after my grandchildren. Fifty-five years of dedicated efforts seem to have been in vain.

==============================

"Mom, are you sure you heard that right?" my son laughed nervously.

At that moment, I was still holding the coffee I'd made for Julieta, and the porcelain mug slipped from my hands, shattering on the floor. I looked up at Derek, whose eyes, blurred behind his reading glasses, were focused elsewhere.

Julieta covered her face, her voice carrying an almost childlike tone that someone our age shouldn’t have. "Sis, don’t take the kids too seriously. Really, it's my fault. I don’t have children of my own, so I spoil Mathew."

"Hey, let’s not just stand around. Let’s move to the couch," my daughter-in-law suggested, trying to ease the tension, while also cautioning, "Mom, watch out for the broken pieces. Don't hurt yourself."

The family moved to the couch, cheerfully watching cartoons with Mathew. I stayed where I was, staring down at my hands.

My knuckles were swollen, a result of washing the entire family's laundry in icy water during harsh winters. My skin was cracked, each dishwashing session making it burn with pain from the detergent. Various spots dotted my hands, remnants of oil splatters from countless meals cooked. The bulging veins resembled crawling insects, now red and swollen from the hot coffee, making them appear even more grotesque.

Despite their words of caution, no one offered to help clean up the shattered porcelain. If I didn’t do it, who would? Mathew loved playing on the floor, and a cut could be serious.

I sighed and, bracing my aching knees, slowly knelt down to clean up the mess.

After preparing the meal and setting the table, I called everyone to come eat. By the time I stepped out of the kitchen, having washed the pots, they had already started without me. No one waited. I carried my plate to the far end of the dining table, sitting in a spot where the food felt out of reach and the conversations dwindled into barely audible murmurs. It was like being back in school, alone in the lonely corner of the classroom.

Julieta leaned over, whispering something to Derek, my husband, making them both share a knowing smile. When she turned back, her eyes met mine, filled with a hint of confusion.

"Hey, Michaela, Derek was just asking if there were any spots left in the ballroom dance class I joined," she said brightly. "He thinks he might sign up too. Want to come along?"

Before I could respond, Derek chimed in without even glancing up, “Michaela’s not really into that kind of thing.”

I was about to say something, but they had already shifted to a new topic. I quickly shoveled a few bites of pasta, then got up to chase Mathew around the house, trying to coax him into eating.

Later, as I was washing the dishes, Julieta came to say goodbye. “Michaela, I’m heading out now. Got a meeting with the art club this afternoon.”

Her life always seemed so exciting. Sketching, pottery, watercolor painting...

I dried my hands and offered, “Hey, let me walk you downstairs.”

But Derek interrupted, “Your sister is busy with chores. I’ll walk you out.”

When I finished tidying up, the large house felt strangely empty. Everyone had gone to see my sister off, even though she was only heading to the local arts center a couple of miles away.

As I sat on the couch, rubbing my tired legs, Derek's phone buzzed between the cushions with a call. It was Kyree, calling on Derek’s phone: “Mom, did Dad leave his phone at home? We thought it was lost.”

As we age, memory tends to slip. Even Derek, a celebrated author, wasn’t immune.

On the other end, I could hear Julieta's voice, playfully engaging with Mathew, before the call abruptly ended. I stared at Derek's phone, watching it light up with the interface of a short video app.

Life was too hectic for me to indulge in technology, what with taking my grandson to preschool, visiting Marianna at the nursing home, grocery shopping, laundry, and cleaning... there simply wasn’t time to play with a smartphone.

I curiously navigated the app, using my fingers awkwardly as I mimicked the actions of younger people. A video appeared on the screen: an amusement park, Julieta, my grandson, and there was my husband.

Years later, when I had become a stylish older woman myself, I finally understood that these video diary-like recordings are what people now call vlogs.

Julieta’s vlog was titled “The Runaway Princess Returns Home,” stylishly embellished with pink neon subtitles. Derek was holding Mathew when he went to pick her up, but she refused to get in the car until he said, “Princess, please get in the car.”

She asked Mathew, who was happily enjoying a chocolate waffle cone, if she could have a taste. After swallowing a whole scoop, the child began to cry, and she playfully ran after him, trying to make it up to him. She even added a clip of herself directing Mathew in a video. In his sweet, childlike voice, he counted, “Three, two, one,” capturing the moment Julieta rested her head on Derek’s shoulder, smiling with the innocence of a young girl.

The comments section was filled with praise:

“What a fabulously youthful grandma!”

“This is the childhood I dream about—both grandpa and grandma are so delightful!”

“Look how grandpa just keeps grinning at grandma in the background. The kid fell while running, and he didn’t even notice, haha. Definitely, his wife is his number one, the grandchild must be adopted.”

Everyone assumed it was a day out with grandparents and their grandchild. The video replayed over and over, each loop piercing my heart.

So this is the Disneyland the child was so excited to visit.

Turns out my hearing isn’t as bad as I thought.