My mother often told me, “Don’t sit on Grandpa’s lap.” I never understood why. One day, I didn’t listen to her and sat down anyway. Grandpa smiled, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “Can you come sleep beside me tonight?”

“You can’t protect her from everything forever.”

Mom whispered,

“She doesn’t need to know yet.”

Grandpa’s expression softened.

“She needs one good memory.”

My mother’s face crumpled.

“But what if tomorrow…”

Grandpa interrupted gently.

“Don’t talk about tomorrow.”

The house went silent.

I didn’t know what tomorrow meant.

But suddenly, I desperately wanted to know.

---

Half an hour later, Mom came upstairs.

“Get dressed.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Grandpa’s.”

I stared at her.

“You said I couldn’t go.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

She looked at me.

“Because sometimes grown-ups make rules when they’re scared.”

That was the strangest answer I’d ever heard.

We drove to Grandpa’s house.

When we arrived, the lights were on in the back porch.

Grandpa opened the door.

“Come in.”

I stepped inside.

Then I stopped.

There were two mattresses on the floor.

Blankets.

Pillows.

A thermos of hot chocolate.

Three bowls of popcorn.

And beside the window stood an old telescope.

I stared at it.

“What is all this?”

Grandpa smiled.

“Your sleepover.”

I looked at Mom.

She was crying again.

“Why?”

Grandpa pointed toward the telescope.

“Because you made me a promise when you were five.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“What promise?”