Chapter 5: The Last Word
But after searching everywhere, the old lady couldn’t find that forty-year-old turtle. She tore through the laundry room, flipped over cushions, muttering about ungrateful kids letting precious pets escape.
I stood up, slow and deliberate, and fished a turtle shell out of the stew. I washed it clean, dried it with a dish towel, and carried it to her.
"Oh, Grandma, the god-grandmother you mentioned—could it be this one?" I offered her the shell with both hands, my face the picture of calm. In the hush that followed, even the fridge seemed to stop humming. Silence hung thick. The only sound was the old lady’s sharp inhale. In that moment, I saw something flicker in her eyes—fear, maybe. Or just the dawning realization that she’d finally met her match.