She glanced at the bed then back to my mother and me. Mrs. Armstrong's cheeks grew scarlet, a flush spreading down to her neck.“So... you want me to...stop the protest?” Mrs. Armstrong asked.“That's a given,” I said, my anger boiling my blood. “You're going to go to them and tell them you overreacted. You'd never had a massage before, and when they started rubbing you, you misunderstood. We're not a bordello. We don't offer happy endings.”“But you do,” she said. “You...” her cheeks blushed. “I. She doesn’t have a long time to live, and she will be reunited with them, anyway. Yes, you did a horrible thing, Grandma, but you’ve had to live with that on your conscience for decades, too. It must have haunted you so much over all that time.“No more servant talk. She’s not a servant. She’s Grandma Jordan, she’s not long for this world, and while we have her here, we can treat her with love and decency. It’s clear that she’s suffering already. That’s her karma. We don’t need to make it worse.. More

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