Jessica, Lisa’s eldest, flipped through the photo album the lawyer handed over, her jaw dropping.
“Is this… Grandma on a gondola? In Venice?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Margaret would’ve loved this.
As the lawyer flipped through the album, he narrated some of Margaret’s escapades: riding a Vespa, sipping wine in a vineyard, and dancing in a village square.
Each photo was more joyful than the last, a testament to her unapologetic embrace of life.
“She used us,” Lisa hissed, glaring at me. “Did you know about this?”
I raised my tea cup, smiling. “All I know is Margaret did what made her happy.
Isn’t that what you wanted for her?”
A month later, I stood at the airport with her photo album tucked into my carry-on. My first destination was Paris.
As the plane soared above the clouds, I pulled out the album and flipped through the pages. There was Margaret, laughing in the sunshine, raising a glass in some charming café.
“This one’s for you, Margaret,” I whispered, raising a tiny plastic cup of champagne.
Source: amomama
