“I just made a decision I should have made years ago,” I whispered.
She smiled knowingly. “Those are usually the best ones.”
Alright.
PART 2
I was still staring at the screen when there was a knock on my hospital room door.
Soft. Hesitant.
I expected Marcus. I expected the rush of him, breathless and frantic, carrying guilt he didn’t deserve for not being there sooner. I braced myself for that relief.
Instead, an elderly man stepped inside.
He was tall, even with age bent into his shoulders. His hair was silver and neatly combed, his cardigan buttoned despite the California heat. His eyes—sharp, familiar blue—locked onto mine instantly.
For half a second, my brain refused to place him.
Then my chest tightened.
“Grandpa?” I croaked.
My mother’s father.
The man who had taught me how to fish when I was seven.
The man who paid for my college textbooks when money was tight.
The man who slipped me two hundred dollars in a birthday card every year, even after I was an adult, always with a note that said, For something just for you.
He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled a chair close to my bed.
“Rebecca,” he said softly. “Easy. Don’t try to move.”
“How did you—” I winced, instinctively trying to sit up.
“Mrs. Chin called me,” he said, his jaw tightening. “She came by to get Emma when the paramedics arrived. Said she heard your phone conversation.”
My throat closed.
“She said you’d been in an accident,” he continued. “And that my daughter refused to help.”
I swallowed hard. “Grandpa… I’m okay. Emma’s safe. She’s with a professional caregiver.”
“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t minimize what happened.”
He sat there for a moment, just looking at me. Not at my injuries. At my face.
The way people do when they’re trying to see past what you’re pretending to be.
“Your grandmother would be furious,” he said finally.
Tears stung my eyes.
“Grandpa, you didn’t have to come all this way—”
“Yes, I did.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. The kind that didn’t require volume.
“Your grandmother and I paid for that cruise,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“The Caribbean cruise your mother’s been talking about for months,” he said. “We bought it for their anniversary. Twelve thousand dollars. Premium package.”
My stomach dropped.
“I thought we were giving them something nice,” he went on. “Didn’t realize we were funding an excuse.”
“An excuse for what?” I asked, though I already knew.
“To abandon their daughter,” he said. “And their granddaughter.”
I felt something cold slide through my veins.
“I called your mother an hour ago,” he said. “Told her I knew what she did.”
I held my breath.
“You know what she said?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“She said you were being dramatic,” he said evenly. “That you were fine. That you’ve always been too dependent.”
My jaw clenched.
“And then,” he continued, his voice hardening, “she said Emma wasn’t her responsibility.”
The words hit like a second collision.
“Consequences,” I whispered. “She called my daughter a consequence.”
Grandpa nodded slowly. “That’s when I canceled the cruise.”
My eyes widened. “You—what?”
“I called the cruise line,” he said. “As the purchaser, I had every right. They’re refunding the money.”
He smiled then—but there was no warmth in it.
“Your parents will not be going on any cruise tomorrow.”
“Grandpa…” My voice shook. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “I did.”
He reached for my hand carefully, avoiding the IV and bruises.
“Rebecca,” he said, softer now. “Your grandmother made me promise something before she passed.”
I looked at him.
“She told me to watch out for you,” he said. “Said she worried about how Patricia treated you compared to Vanessa.”
Tears spilled over.
“I thought maybe she was imagining it,” he admitted. “Grandmothers can be protective. But over the years… I’ve seen it.”
He paused, choosing his words with care.
“The way your sister is praised for the same things you’re criticized for. The way your accomplishments are dismissed while hers are celebrated. The way you’re always expected to be understanding while she’s allowed to be selfish.”
“It’s just how Mom is,” I said weakly. “She doesn’t mean it.”
He looked at me steadily. “It’s how you’ve all let her be.”
The truth of that settled heavily between us.
“Not anymore,” he said. “Not after this.”
There was another knock.
This time, it was Marcus.
He stood in the doorway, still in his conference suit, tie loosened, hair disheveled, holding a bouquet of flowers he clearly grabbed without thinking. When he saw me, his face crumpled with relief.
“I’m okay,” I said quickly. “We’re okay.”
He crossed the room and kissed my forehead gently, carefully avoiding my injuries.
Grandpa stood up. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said. Then he turned back to me. “But before I go—Rebecca, is there anything else I should know?”
I hesitated.
