**Don’t You Dare Touch Her!**
When Christine’s phone rang, she didn’t recognise her mum’s voice at first. It was faint, childlike almost, tight with worry.
*“Christine, can you come home?”*
A chill ran down her spine. She’d only heard that tone once before—when Grandpa passed. Back then, the whole family had scrambled, rummaging for anything black to wear. Only her brother, William, had anything suitable—thanks to his teenage goth phase. Then came the endless, stuffy train ride and the suffocating silence of the flat where Grandpa had spent his last days.
*“What’s happened?!”* Her voice wavered. In her mind flashed the face of Vincent, her fiancé, who’d surely blow his top if they had to postpone the wedding again. The first time, she’d rescheduled because of a broken leg. He’d screamed—tickets booked, everything arranged! But this time… surely it wasn’t her fault?
*“Granny’s test results… they’re not good. Just got back from the hospital…”*
Christine exhaled. She knew Granny had been having tests, but she’d hoped for the best. Still, if no one had died, they wouldn’t need to cancel the wedding. Or… maybe she ought to hurry, just in case.
Thinking of Granny dying was terrifying. She’d always been there—kind, strong, a real rock. When Grandad left her and Mum, Granny worked triple shifts to make sure her daughter never wanted for anything. Even now, with her measly pension, she somehow managed to help both Christine and William.
*“I’ll come,”* was all she managed to say.
Granny greeted her with surprising cheer, even cracking jokes:
*“Don’t fret, love. They’ll do chemo—might help. Shame about my hair, though. Had it my whole life…”*
*“Let’s dye it! You’ll be the prettiest at the wedding!”* Christine forced a smile.
Granny flustered, digging into her purse:
*“Here, take this for the dye. Don’t argue!”*
*“Granny, no, I’ve got it—”*
*“You’ve got enough expenses. Take it. Oh, and I’ve got a gift—been saving it for the right moment…”*
From the wardrobe, she pulled out a pink bag. Inside was a handmade, snow-white shawl. Old-fashioned, maybe, but so full of love and warmth that Christine instantly decided—she *would* wear it on her wedding day.
*“Thank you! It’s perfect!”*
*“Your mum said you’d never wear something like this… Nothing’s ever good enough for her. I sewed her a dress once, and she poured ink on it—just to spite me!”*
Christine lied gently:
*“Mum said it was an accident…”*
Over tea, chatter, and dyeing Granny’s hair, time flew. A knock came—William and his mate, Callum, arrived with a kitten. Ginger, like Granny’s old cat, Whiskers, who’d passed years ago.
*“Callum, love, I’m on death’s door… What am I meant to do with a kitten?”*
*“No one’s tossing anyone out, Granny! Now you’ve got to stick around,”* William winked.
Christine and Callum slipped out to the shops for milk and biscuits. He barely spoke, only murmuring:
*“Feel rotten for Granny. Hope she pulls through.”*
*“You’ll come to the wedding?”*
*“Course…”* He said nothing else, but Christine caught something in his eyes—something she was afraid to name.
The evening was warm. Granny laughed, William praised her new hair, and Callum admired the shawl. Only Mum was missing—on shift at work. Christine went to call her, then froze—dozens of missed messages from Vincent. She’d completely forgotten—dinner with his parents tonight.
*“Where the hell have you been?!”* Vincent roared. *“Mum’s been worried sick!”*
*“I’m at Granny’s. She has cancer.”*
*“She’s had her time. *We’ve* got a wedding to plan!”*
William drove her home. Callum stayed with Granny. At home, screaming. Vincent called the shawl a *“rags”* and forbade her to wear it.
*“I’m wearing it,”* Christine said. *“It’s from Granny.”*
*“Are you taking the piss?”*
The rows didn’t stop. Then, the day before the wedding, Granny was hospitalised. Christine begged to postpone—Vincent exploded:
*“Money’s spent! Everything’s booked! Guests are here! Granny can bloody well wait.”*
On the day, she wore the shawl anyway.
*“Take that bloody tablecloth off!”* Vincent snarled.
*“It’s *my* wedding!”* Christine clenched her fists.
*“I’m your *husband*, and you’ll *listen* to me!”*
*“Not yet, you’re not.”*
Her bridesmaids gasped. Parents tried to mediate. But Christine already knew—she wouldn’t stay. Wouldn’t keep quiet, bend, endure…
*“I want to see Granny. Take me there.”*
*“Have you lost your mind?!”* Vincent grabbed her arm.
*“Don’t you dare touch her!”* A voice cut through.
Callum. Face twisted with fury.
*“My wife—I’ll handle this!”*
*“No. She’s *not*.”* William stepped in, punching Vincent square in the jaw. *“Let’s go see Granny.”*
Shouting, tears, curses from the in-laws—it all blurred. But Christine followed her brother. And Callum, who fell into step beside her, walking past discarded balloons—already forgotten.
