My Grandmother's Hands Audiobook Novels & Stories

Mona's POV Sophie's hands shook as she held her grandmother's journal, and I knew before she spoke that whatever she'd found would shatter something we couldn't rebuild. "My grandmother spent forty years tracking this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The leather-bound book looked ancient, its pages yellowed and fragile, covered in three different languages and symbol systems I didn't recognize. "She never told me why. Now I understand—she was terrified of what would happen when it came true."

She stops at the door and points to my grandmother laying on a table in the room, her body covered in a white sheet from head to toe. I walk to the bedside with shaky legs and the moment I take the sheet off and set my eyes on her pale face, I burst out into a loud sob, wishing I could go back to a month ago so I can prevent that accident that made her this way. The accident that took my only living family away from me. “Grandma…” I call in a broken voice as I reach for her hand. They are too cold, so lifeless and the tears begin to leave my eyes in torrents as I remember how warm these hands used to be when they held my face.

The throbbing and numbness in my right hand just wouldn’t go away. Within minutes, the pain had me drenched in a cold sweat, and my head started to get fuzzy. It was killing me. I struggled to pull a small moonstone pendant from inside my shirt—a gift from my grandma. It was my last hope. Hidden inside was a contact list written in a special ink. I remembered my grandma’s last words, her voice so gentle but firm. “Aria, Grandma’s getting old. I’m afraid I won’t be around to see you become truly strong.”

I heard the voice of my uncle Brian Pearson shouting while holding a sign. I turned my head in surprise and saw him wheeling my elderly grandmother towards me. Brian seemed to have not changed much in my memory, and my grandma's eyes remained loving. "Krista, let me look at you carefully!" My grandmother caressed my hand, her eyes also filled with tears. "My dear, you suffered there. But when you come back to my place, no one will ever bully you again." My grandma held my hand tightly and refused to let go. I never mentioned to them what had happened between me and Ayden. Maybe it was because the tiredness on my face couldn't be concealed anymore, or maybe it was the telepathy between a gran

Or maybe I expected it to feel like more. Thirty years of one woman's understanding of how to survive something that had killed twelve people across four centuries, and it fit in one hand. "Three days," I said. "Three days," he said. "I have lived with that for twenty-two years." I looked at the book. At the worn leather and the soft edges and my grandmother's handwriting visible through the cover, spilling over onto the inside front page in the same cramped script as my father's, recognizable as family in the way handwriting sometimes is.

Lying on the ground with her hand pressed against a wound and her gold eyes still present and still certain. My grandmother. "Yes," I said. I raised both hands.

It had been so nice to hear Grandfather call me Lavender again in that shrill voice of his. I never really realized how much I had been longing to hear him say it again until the words fell from his lips. Grandma Grace was now gentler and more tender than before. Since Grandfather's illness, all her usual nastiness and bitchiness seemed to have washed away and been replaced with gentleness.

It was then I heard Grandma praying and chanting. "Oh, Goddess of Fertility, grant me just two more days, Old and frail, I can bear no more pain. The last woman was useless, a wasted affair, The next one needs time—just a few days to prepare. I beg you, Goddess of Fertility, have mercy, be kind, Spare my dear son and don't trouble his mind." I was beyond shell shocked to hear that chant. What on earth was the Goddess of Fertility? Did it have something to do with Grandma's baby paintings?

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, grounding myself in the physical sensation. ‘Calm down, Elowen. Don't let them see through you.’ I kept reminding myself. That freaking arshole! He didn’t need to touch me to destabilize me. And that realization sat heavier than fear, or my annoyance... “You were distracted tonight,” My grandmother was the first to speak, pulling me away from my thoughts. I glanced at her, her deep grey eyes were on me now, cold as usual, emotionless. “America had clearly taken out your manners it seems.” She said, her voice calm, almost mild.

Author’s POV The moonlight crept through the curtains, throwing pale shadows across Grandma’s room. She sat on the edge of her bed, holding her old phone tightly in her wrinkled hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she waited for the call to connect. Finally, the line clicked, and a cold voice came through. “Why is it taking you forever to bring the thing again?” the unknown voice snapped. Grandma closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. She had been expecting this call, but still, the voice sent chills down her spine. It wasn’t a voice she wanted to hear often — calm one moment, dangerous the next.