Brenda's right hand trembled as it tapped against the leather sofa—a nervous rhythm she couldn't control.
The leather was cool beneath her fingertips, worn smooth from years of use.
She perched on the edge of the cushion next to Grandma Beatrice, her spine rigid, unable to settle into the comfort the furniture promised.
Confusion and surprise still twisted her features. Her mouth felt dry.
Grandma Beatrice waited, patient as a spider in its web, watching Brenda's agitation with calculating eyes.
When Brenda's tapping finally slowed, the old woman shifted, the leather creaking beneath her weight.
She angled her body toward her granddaughter, and when she spoke, her voice emerged small and smooth—honey over steel—as if she hadn't been shouting just minutes before.
"How close are you with Delvin?"
The question hung in the air between them. Beatrice's eyes bored into Brenda with such intensity that the younger woman felt pinned, like a butterfly under glass.
Brenda's stomach clenched. The question about Delvin made no sense. Her mind raced, trying to trace the trajectory of this conversation, searching for the hidden meaning, the trap surely waiting beneath the surface. Where was this coming from? Where was it leading?
Nothing came. No answer. No clarity.
She swallowed hard and said the first thing that surfaced.
"Not that close. Why do you ask?"
Her eyes remained fixed on Grandma Beatrice, whose expression crumbled—disappointment flooding her features like water breaching a dam.
The old woman's gaze swept over Brenda methodically, cataloging every micro-expression, every shift in posture, every unconscious tell.
Reading her like a book. The examination confirmed what Beatrice feared: Brenda hadn't considered Delvin romantically. Not even once.
"Well."
Beatrice's fingers interlaced jewelry.
"You know his life has changed. He'll never be the same. Our family..."
She paused, letting the weight of their circumstances settle.
"Our family will never compare to what he's becoming. Your father is almost retired. George has no stable income—you know how bad things are."
Her voice dropped lower.
"And you? You have no income either."
The words landed like stones in Brenda's chest. Each one true. Each one heavy.
Grandma Beatrice paused, drawing in a breath that seemed to carry the weight of generations.
"We need someone in our family to connect us with ZamCorp. That's our lifeline now. Our only way to survive."
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.
"I want you to draw closer to Delvin. Get to know him better. Intimately better."
The meaning crystallized, sharp and unmistakable.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Those scanning eyes again—dissecting, measuring, demanding compliance.
Understanding crashed over Brenda like a cold wave. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Blood rushed in her ears. She lifted her head slowly, forcing herself to meet her grandmother's gaze, and opened her mouth.
Her voice emerged quiet, strained with melancholy.
"Granny, I'm seeing someone else."
The confession felt like pulling a splinter from her heart.
"Besides, you didn't like Delvin before. Now you suddenly want him in our family?"
Heat flushed her cheeks.
"For God's sake, he's George's friend."
Silence.
Grandma Beatrice's face became unreadable stone. She sat motionless, considering, calculating.
The clock on the mantel ticked. Somewhere outside, a dog barked. Finally, she spoke.
"Who is this young man you're seeing?"
The dismissal in her tone was absolute.
"Forget about him. Focus on Delvin. He's the real deal—the one who can change our family's fate."
She paused, drawing in a deep breath that made her shoulders rise and fall.
"Remember, I'm getting old. I won't be here to take care of you forever."
Her voice sharpened.
"Stop being selfish. We have to preserve our family legacy. Your father is aging. George refused the responsibility we gave him."
Each word was a nail driven home.
"Now you're our last option."
Beatrice's hand reached out, hovering near Brenda's knee without quite touching.
"In life, one must make sacrifices to claim the good things it offers. To live a comfortable, peaceful, enjoyable life."
Her eyes softened, almost tender.
"You're young. You can learn to love any man. And love?"
She waved her hand dismissively.
"Love means nothing when you're destitute. You can't express yourself fully—intellectually, spiritually, physically—when you're starving. All of that requires money."
The words burrowed under Brenda's skin.
"I want you to think about this seriously. Push this family to the next level of glory."
Their eyes remained locked. Brenda felt herself drowning in her grandmother's expectations, in the truth she couldn't deny.
Tears welled up, blurring her vision. Her throat constricted. The world "had" become bad.
Everyone lived day-to-day now, scrambling for survival. She couldn't pretend otherwise.
And if she was honest—truly honest—she "did" find Delvin charming.
The thought had just never crystallized before. Never been given permission to exist.
"Okay, Granny."
The words felt pulled from somewhere deep inside her.
"I'll think about it."
Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Can I go to bed now?"
A smile ghosted across Grandma Beatrice's lips—dim, satisfied, victorious. She'd planted the seed. Now it just needed watering.
"Yes."
Brenda studied her grandmother's face, noting how the tension had drained away, replaced by relief. By triumph.
"Goodnight," Brenda murmured.
"Good night."
The smile on Beatrice's face widened. The seed was planted. The rest was just patience.