by Christine Treadwell
She’s got her little hands around the box before I can stop her. Sophie, my second pride and joy. My granddaughter. ‘Darling, no, let’s leave that—’ My words make it more alluring. She slides it from between the thick volumes on the same level of the bookshelf. I placed it there because I figured she wouldn’t be interested if I didn’t place it on the same level as her books and toys. If only my back allowed me to reach the highest shelf.