Just… sharp.
“You didn’t ask me,” I said.
She shrugged.
“I’m his grandmother. I don’t need permission for something like that.”
I looked down at my son again.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
His fingers were still brushing over his head, like he was trying to find something that wasn’t there anymore.
“It wasn’t something small,” I said quietly. “It mattered to him.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “He’s five. He’ll forget about it in a day.”
But I knew he wouldn’t.