Grandma’s Disappointed Stare
Margaret had a way of communicating without saying a single word. One raised eyebrow, a slight tilt of her head, and you instantly knew you were in trouble.
On this particular afternoon, she stood in her living room, her eyes fixed on a small table by the wall. There sat a vase holding what used to be her favorite flower—a vibrant daisy, now wilted and drooping sadly. She tapped the top of the cabinet with her finger, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Hmm,” she muttered under her breath, scanning the room as if searching for the culprit responsible for the flower’s sorry state. It wasn’t the flower she was upset about—it was the principle. She had asked someone to water it while she was out, and clearly, that task had been ignored.
In truth, her stern expression hid a tiny smile inside. She knew her “look” alone would be enough to make the guilty party squirm. And sure enough, moments later, her grandson shuffled into the room, eyes on the floor, mumbling something about “forgetting.”
Margaret didn’t need to scold. The flower might not have survived, but the lesson certainly had.
