My 5-Year-Old Granddaughter’s Call Left Me Uneasy — What I Found at Her House Was Beyond Words

My 5-Year-Old Granddaughter Called Me Saying Her Mom Was ‘Pretending She’s Not Scared’ — I Rushed over and Was Left Speechless

I never get a call from my granddaughter alone. The fact that her mother was “pretending not to be scared,” in her tiny words, made me realize that something was off. When I arrived, my heart was pounding and I was left motionless in the doorway.

“Hey, Grandma Could you let me sleep at your residence this evening?”

I went cold.

Lila spoke quietly. Too supple. That was not how she ever whispered.

She is five years old. Full of wacky stories and giggles. When she runs, her blonde curls bounce. large blue eyes. front teeth missing. Talking about space pirates, unicorns, and dragons all the time.

She never gives me a call. Not by herself.

However, she did that evening.

Softly, “Of course, sweetie,” I murmured. “Is Mommy there?”

“Yes. She’s acting, though.

I straightened my posture. “Pretending what?”

“That she’s not scared.”

My chest grew constricted.

“…Sweetheart, where is she now?”

“In the restroom. The door is shut because—”

The call ended.

Let me introduce ourselves.

My name is Judy. Sixty-one. widow. drinker of tea. Concernwart. I’ve been living on the same street for thirty years.

Emma, my daughter, is thirty-six. observant. Nice. Keep quiet. She is employed in the library. like solving crossword puzzles and avoids discussing emotions a much. Or Mike, her late spouse.

Two years ago, he was killed in an automobile accident.

Emma never went out again. I believe she is tough but still recovering.

Five years ago, my husband, Bob, passed away. stroke. Before I arrived, he had already left.

It’s been us gals ever since. Lila, Emma. Me.

It feels like we live together even though we don’t. I spend more time at their apartment than at mine. At my house, Lila has a drawer filled with jammies and crayons. I make baked goods. Emma brings books. We exchange food, embraces, and weary grins.

I knew something wasn’t right because of this.

Lila’s tone was unusual. Too quiet. Too silent. Too mature.

And what she said… “She’s pretending she’s not scared.”

I glanced at the phone screen with trembling hands. The call has ended. I hit the redial button. No response. I made another call, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Emma?” As if she could hear me over the air, I said aloud. “Answer the phone.”

I texted.

“Is everything alright? Give me a call. Please.

Nothing. I waited for ten seconds. I could take no more of that.

I sprinted to my car and clutched the steering wheel as if it were the only thing stopping me from collapsing. Outside, the sky had turned the deep blue that is visible right before nightfall. One by one, the streetlights sprang to life. I hardly noticed them.

At Broad and 7th, I ran a red light. didn’t even reduce speed.

I told myself to call again. Yes, I did. No response as of yet. sent another text.

“Please, Emma. I got a call from Lila. I’ll be over.”

Nothing. My chest was constricted. The engine was not as loud as my thoughts.

Did someone enter the house? Did Emma get hurt? Did Lila hide?

She sounded like someone I had never heard before. Lila. My daughter’s daughter. So silent. As if she were concealing something.

What did she say, too?

“She’s pretending.”

Acting like everything is fine? For the sake of Lila, pretending? Or acting as if you were someone else?

As I sped through another light, a car honked. I didn’t give a damn. It seemed like there were too many seconds. On the wheel, my knuckles were white. Fear doesn’t wait for its turn when you love someone so deeply. It bursts in. Out loud. Horrible. Quick.

My heart was pounding as if I had run the entire distance by the time I turned into their driveway.

It was dark in the home. There are no lights in the windows. No light on the porch. The light on the porch never goes off.

After parking partially on the grass, I leaped out. With each frantic step, the entrance door became closer. I rapped once. The knob was then tried.

It pivoted. Unlocked. I opened it.

I called, “Emma?”

No response.

“Lila?”

Nothing.

I entered. chilly air. Keep quiet. The sort of silence that isn’t tranquil. It’s the incorrect kind.

There was nobody in the living room. They pulled the drapes. Lila’s favorite blanket was thrown over the side of the couch as if she had just been there.

With my sneakers making too much noise on the floor, I walked down the corridor. From the rear of the home came the faint sound of running water.

The restroom.

The door was shut. Finally, my phone buzzed in my hand.

I glanced down. Spam.

I muttered a curse and took a step forward. The water continued to flow. I feared I could shatter something since my heart was beating so rapidly.

My hand went up to knock—

Then I heard it. A shout. Elevated. Sharp. from a little throat.

Lila.

I didn’t consider it. I held my breath. I opened the door—

and stopped.

Like it owed her money, Emma was hunched over the toilet and slammed the lid shut. She had a mop in both hands, like a baseball bat, and her hair was slipping out of its bun.

Backing into the corner, Lila pointed up at the ceiling with wide eyes as if she had just seen a ghost.

As if I had broken into their bunker at the end of the world, they both turned to face me.

“Mom!” Emma let out a gasp.

“Grandma!” Lila gave a little squeal.

I was out of breath. “What’s happening?!”

Emma blinked as though she had just seen me. “Why are you—what are you doing here?”

“You didn’t respond. I got a call from Lila.

Emma gave me a long look as if she was still taking it all in.

I gulped hard and said, “I thought—” “I thought something terrible happened.”

“I mean…” Emma’s gaze lowered to the mop she was holding. “Something did happen.”

She gestured to the bathroom. “Two of them.”

I stepped forward unsteadily. “Two what?”

“Spiders,” she murmured. “Big ones.”

I blinked.

“Spiders?”

Muttering, “Tangerine-sized,”

My legs seemed to give out and then stand up again in a single motion.

When I said, “I drove here like a maniac,” “You didn’t respond. It was dark in the home. The call ended. Lila uttered—”

Emma, still motionless in the corner, turned to face Lila.

“She called you?”

I remarked, “She used your phone,” “Right before the line cut.”

Emma glanced down at the mop after turning back to face me.

She let out a sigh. Like she had just finished a marathon, she sat down on the toilet lid.

Not yet, the tension remained in the room. My knees were still stuck, and my hands were still trembling.

Lila was still standing on the wall when I looked down at her. She continued to gaze at the ceiling. Wide-eyed. Tight lips. She remained silent.

At last, Emma brushed her hair away from her face and got to her feet.

“Well,” she remarked, continuing to hold the mop, “that was ridiculous.”

Lila approached me carefully, her eyes still wide. She said, “Mommy was pretending,” as she raised her head.

Emma pivoted. “What?”

You were muttering, ‘oh no, oh no,’ under your breath, but you said it wasn’t a huge deal,” Lila replied quietly. I heard you.

Emma laughed breathlessly and put one hand over her face. “All right. You have me.

She gave me a rather guilty expression. “I didn’t want to scare her.”

“You didn’t,” Lila declared with pride. “You just looked… funny.”

At the time, we all laughed. The kind of laugh you get when the adrenaline wears off and you realize everyone is okay, but not a big one.

Emma gave a headshake. “I can’t believe she called you.”

I remarked, “She was worried,”

“She’s five.”

I remarked, “She’s clever,”

Lila smiled.

I kept my fear of spiders a secret from them. It has always been. It will always remain. They used to be looked for by my husband, Bob. Right now? I say a prayer and use the vacuum.

Then we made popcorn. We sat in our pajamas around the kitchen island, laughing at nothing in particular and munching salty handfuls.

The restroom remained shut. We didn’t want to double-check.

I stayed overnight later that evening. Emma didn’t have to, but she offered. I always would.

Before I could finish brushing my teeth, Lila had already pulled her sleeping bag into the guest room. I folded her favorite blanket over her shoulders and snuggled her in.

Her cheeks were flushed from all the excitement, and her locks were still a bit wild.

She spoke softly as she glanced up at me. She said, “I’ll call before the spiders appear the next time.”

I gave her a forehead kiss while grinning. “Good plan.”

I probably would have yelled too, but I chose not to tell her the truth. Some secrets belong only to adults.

I pondered the nature of love as I perched on the edge of the bed and watched her fall asleep. It appears to be bedtime stories at times. Sometimes it’s running red lights and jumbled phone conversations. Sometimes it just manifests when someone is acting fearless.

And occasionally? At night, the kitchen is filled with goodies. Only the gals. Getting things to work.