My parents and brother refused to take my 12-year-old daughter to the emergency room after she broke her leg…

So when my principal selected me to represent our school at an educational conference in Chicago, a potential stepping stone to the department head position I’d been working toward, I reluctantly arranged for Grace to stay with my parents for the weekend. It’s only three days, Mom, Grace said, packing her favorite books. At 12, she was in that beautiful transition phase, still my little girl but blossoming into her own person.

Her dark hair was pulled into a practical ponytail, and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. I’ll be fine. Plus, Grandpa said we might go hiking to the waterfall.

I checked her suitcase, adding an extra sweater. April in Minnesota can be unpredictable. I know you’ll be fine, sweetie.

Just remember to take your allergy medication every morning, and don’t let Grandpa give you too much sugar before bed. I know, Mom. She rolled her eyes playfully.

We’ve done this before. We had, but never for more than a day. Something about this trip felt different.

Maybe it was the importance of the conference, or perhaps it was the way Jason had inserted himself into the weekend plans at the last minute. He and his wife, Megan, were having issues, and he decided to stay at our parents’ place to clear his head. Jason’s presence always shifted the family dynamic, making Harold and Martha even more dismissive of me.

Friday afternoon, I drove Grace to the lake house. The property looked beautiful in early spring, budding trees, glimpses of the lake through the woods, the charming A-frame house my father had built before I was born. My parents greeted us on the porch, Martha immediately fussing over Grace’s light jacket.

That’s not nearly warm enough for the forecast, she criticized, ushering Grace inside. I’ve laid out some appropriate clothes for the weekend. I bit my tongue.

Grace shot me a look that said, it’s okay, I’ll handle Grandma. Harold barely acknowledged me, focused instead on telling Grace about the hiking trail he’d mapped out for Saturday. The waterfall is gorgeous this time of year with the snow melt.

You’ll need proper shoes, not those flimsy sneakers. I packed her hiking boots. Dad, I said, setting Grace’s suitcase in the guest room.

They’re the ones you and Mom got her for Christmas. He nodded distractedly. Jason’s bringing steaks for dinner tomorrow.

He should be here around noon. Of course, Jason’s arrival was the highlight of the weekend. Before leaving, I pulled my mother aside in the kitchen.

Mom, Grace sometimes gets homesick at night. If she needs to call me, even late, please let her. Martha waved dismissively.

Stephanie, we’ve raised children before. Successfully, I might add. The implication that I somehow hadn’t been raised successfully wasn’t lost on me.

Grace will be fine. We don’t coddle her like you do. I swallowed my retort.

Also, she’s been having some knee pain from soccer. If it flares up, there’s ibuprofen in her toiletry bag. Harold was a surgeon for 35 years, and Jason is a doctor.

I think we can handle a little knee pain. Her tone was clipped, final. When Jason arrived as I was preparing to leave, he barely spared me a greeting before sweeping Grace into a bear hug.

There’s my favorite niece. Ready for an adventure weekend with the cool uncle? Grace laughed, and I forced a smile. Jason had always been good with Grace, if somewhat overbearing.

His gift-giving was excessive. His stories exaggerated. His entire persona with her performative…