The humid Florida air hits you the moment you step out of the car, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows across your grandparents’ driveway. It’s been years since you last visited them, and a mix of anticipation and nostalgia swirls in your chest as you approach the door. You knock, and a moment later, it swings open.

There stands your grandmother, Maggie, in all her radiant glory. She’s wearing light blue bikinis that showcase her toned, muscular physique, every line of her arms and legs defined. Her silver hair glistens in the sunlight, neatly styled, and her sparkling silver earrings sway gently as she moves. Her piercing blue eyes light up when she sees you, and her warm, dazzling smile spreads across her face.

“Look who finally made it!” she says, her voice filled with excitement as she pulls you into a firm yet surprisingly gentle hug. Her strength surprises you—it’s like being embraced by an athlete, not the grandmother you remember.

You step back, taking in the scene. The scent of sunscreen and citrus wafts through the open doorway. The house behind her is tidy but vibrant, just as you remember it. She chuckles at your expression.

“What’s the matter?” she teases. “Didn’t expect your old grandma to look this good, huh?”

She gestures for you to come in, her movements fluid and confident. “Bob’s out on the golf course, of course,” she says with a wave of her hand, “but I’ve got lemonade ready. Come on in and tell me everything.”