That’s when my daughter-in-law, the wife of my younger son, reacted sharply.
“Wow, grandma playing young again? That body’s pretty wrinkly, time to cover up! What will people think?” she wrote, adding a laughing emoji.
Many went silent. Even my son — her husband — didn’t say anything. Only my older son wrote: “That was too much.”
I read it and felt pain rising inside me. Not because I was ashamed of myself. But because a young woman, the mother of my granddaughter, thinks that as you age, you’re supposed to hide — to disappear.
I didn’t respond that night. But the next morning, I decided to teach her a lesson and show her that you don’t speak to older people like that. 
Continuation in the first comment 
A week later, when we returned home, I hosted a family dinner. I invited everyone: kids, grandkids, and of course, my daughter-in-law.
I asked my husband to print that photo — large, black and white, in a frame — and I placed it in the center of the table. When everyone had arrived, I stood up and said:
— Thank you for coming. Today I want to show you what love looks like after 40 years of life together. What a body looks like that has given birth, done laundry, cooked, stayed up nights, worked two jobs — and still loves. Yes, I have wrinkles. Yes, my body isn’t perfect. But I’m not ashamed of it. I’m proud of it. And I’m proud that my husband still looks at me the same way he did on our wedding day.
A pause. Silence.
I looked at my daughter-in-law:
— But if someone believes that love is only smooth skin and a perfect swimsuit, maybe it’s time to think about what they’re teaching their daughters.
She lowered her eyes. She didn’t say a word. The rest of the evening went calmly, but tensely.
A few days later, she came to me. No drama. With a pie. And with an apology. She said she understood. That she was ashamed. That she had never had a real example of what true feelings look like as they grow older.
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