I never met my grandma. She died two years before I was born. But I’ve seen dozens of discolored Polaroids. Her warm smile and animated eyes. All the pretty dresses she owned. The way she pinned her dark hair up. Abuelito’s told so many stories, I feel as if I knew her. But I don’t know Leticia Martin, not the way the rest of my family does. I only know that Abuelito’s still so ridiculously in love with her.
