My grandson secretly gave me a walkie-talkie for our bedtime chats — one night, it ended up revealing a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear.

Hi, I’m Annie. I’m 60 years old, and all my life, I’ve believed family comes first.

When my husband passed away, Thomas was just seven. I scrubbed floors, washed endless dishes, worked double shifts—anything to make sure there was food on the table and hope in our home.

Now, Max, my grandson, is four. With his soft curls and raspy little giggle, he can melt the hardest day. A week ago, he ran up to me with sticky little fingers wrapped around a tiny toy walkie-talkie.

“Grandma Annie, this is for you!” he said.

“What’s it for, honey?” I asked.

“So we can talk even when I’m in my room! Just push the button and say my name!”

I tied it to my apron. “I love it, darling,” I said.

He squeezed my legs tight, and through the thin wall between our apartments, I heard Lila calling him inside. We live next door in Skyridge Apartments. I helped them buy that place five years ago, back when Lila was pregnant with Max.

“That way, our little one can grow up close to his grandma,” Thomas had promised, eyes full of hope.

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