“…he’s your grandfather.”
I was stunned. My grandfather? I had never known him. My mom rarely spoke about her family, especially her father. I grew up believing he had no interest in us, that he had walked out on my mom when she was a teenager. It was the narrative I accepted without question. But here he was, sitting in my section every Sunday, leaving a $100 tip as if to say everything he couldn’t with words.
My mind raced. Why hadn’t he said anything? Why come here every week just to leave money without so much as a hint of who he was? I needed answers.
