"We were hurt when our daughter and her husband died… your parents," Florence started, taking Athena's hands in hers, not sure how to tell the story, how to relive the memory she could never get used to.
Grief always did that. You never get used to it.
"For weeks, I raged—months in—I blamed everyone, blamed your grandfather, especially when he wouldn't do anything about it."
A pause.
"He did do something, but he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Said Emily wouldn't like it, and I told him that Emily wasn't alive to see him do anything." She chuckled drily, the sound brittle, hollow.
"I just wanted the people behind it dead. I went into depression. Then I became crazy. Muttered to myself a whole lot, even had an investigation board. It all pointed to his sister… but he wouldn't do anything. There wasn't any evidence, just my instincts and one or two coincidences."
Athena squeezed her grandmother's hands when the latter stopped talking, eyes softening.
