I was wrong.
Two days later, Carol showed up again. No call. No warning.
She parked in the driveway, walked straight past me, and headed for the garage.
“Carol?” I asked, confused. “What are you doing?”
She bent down, lifted the red bike, and started carrying it toward her car.
Lily ran out behind me, barefoot and panicked.
“Grandma, that’s my bike!”
Carol didn’t look at her. “I’m taking it back.”
My stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”
She finally turned around, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve been thinking. That bike was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I repeated. “You gave it to her.”
Carol sighed dramatically. “Lily is too… rough. She doesn’t appreciate things. And honestly, I don’t think she deserves it.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t do anything bad…”
I stepped in front of the car. “You can’t just take back a gift from a child. That’s cruel.”
Carol’s voice sharpened. “You don’t tell me what to do with my money.”
Then she said the real reason.
“I bought that bike so she’d spend more time at my house. But you barely bring her over. So what’s the point?”
I felt my hands shaking. “You gave her a gift with conditions?”
Carol shrugged. “I have expectations.”
Lily started sobbing, reaching for the bike as Carol loaded it into the trunk.
“Please, Grandma,” she cried.
Carol slammed the trunk shut.
She drove away.
That night, Lily asked me, “Did I do something wrong?”
I hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe. “No, baby. You did nothing wrong.”
The next morning, my husband called his mother.
She didn’t apologize.
Instead, she said, “If Lily wants nice things, she needs to learn who’s in charge.”
That’s when we made a decision.
We went to the store, bought Lily a new bike—pink this time—and let her choose every single sticker for it.
She smiled again.
But the story didn’t end there.
Because a week later, Carol showed up at our door…
And this time, she wasn’t there for the bike.