I watched my granddaughter fall under the spell of a so-called prophecy, and right back into the arms of the worst man she’d ever known. I thought it was fate too… until I found out who the “fortune-teller” really was.
After that, I stopped watching, and took action.
I raised Greta like a second daughter.
She came into my life when I was just about to slow down, my knees were going, blood pressure ticking up, the usual signs of old age.
But from the time she was born, she brought something back into my chest I didn’t know I’d been missing.
She’d sit on my kitchen counter in high school, babbling about astrology, crystals, and the “energy” of the moon. I teased her gently.
I told her the only full moon I cared about was the one that gave me a bad back.
But Greta never stopped believing in signs.
Until one of them wrecked her life.
**
Two months ago, Greta came home from a farmer’s market with her face pale and her voice shaky.
“A woman stopped me,” she said.
“She looked straight at me and said, ‘You have to marry your first high school love. It will change your life.’ Then she just walked away.”
I frowned. “Really?
What did she look like?”
“She had big black curly hair, sunglasses, and a long patterned dress, Grandpa.
And a really deep voice. The kind of person you can’t ignore.”
I chuckled.
“Honey, that sounds like a drunk person in a wig.”
But my granddaughter didn’t laugh. Her fingers toyed with the rings she always wore, aquamarine, moonstone, and opal.
Even at 22 years old, nothing had changed.
Greta always turned to her stars and crystals for advice.
“I think she was right, Gramps.”
I brushed it off, but something shifted after that.
Greta looked Sean up on social media that night.
By the end of the week, they were back in touch.
And not long after that, they were together again.
Sean.
The same Sean, no job, three kids with three women, and a temper that could sour a room.
That Sean.
I tried not to panic. “You’re seeing him again?” I asked gently, hoping I’d misunderstood.
Greta nodded. “It feels like…
like it’s meant to be.”
I just stared at her.
“Greta, honey, you said yourself…” I began.
“That he made you cry every week of senior year.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “But that was before.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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