That man spent Levi’s whole childhood tearing him down, and Levi had told me long before I was ever pregnant that no son of his would carry it.
Diane knew. She looked straight at my face and laughed.
“Oh, don’t look so upset. It’s just a name.”
I went still.
No son of his would carry it.
Levi looked at me.
Then, without a word, he stood and crossed the room.
“Speech, speech!” One of Diane’s friends clapped her hands.
But Levi wasn’t going to toast or make speeches.
Instead he walked behind the dessert table, reached up, and pulled down GRANDMA’S LITTLE BLESSING.
“Speech, speech!”
The room went silent.
Then he started unhooking the framed photos of Diane holding him as a baby, one by one, stacking them against the wall.
“Levi,” Diane snapped. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Fixing my wife’s baby shower.”
And right then it hit me, so hard I almost gasped.
