Chapter 35

I'm sitting in Grandpa's room at the nursing home, the faint smell of antiseptic mingling with the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the window. The small table between us feels more like a world of its own, a sanctuary for our conversations. I peel the apple I brought, each slice revealing the crisp white flesh, a familiar ritual that brings a smile to his weathered face.

But today, something's off. I glance up from the apple, noticing his finger pressed to his lips, a habit of his when he’s lost in thought. "Grandpa, what's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" My voice is steady, laced with concern.

He looks up, surprise in his eyes, and quickly removes his hand. "It's nothing," he says, but the heaviness in his voice betrays him. "I just feel like I'm not being helpful."

The words strike me like a blow. I set down the knife and lean forward, urgency bubbling in my chest. "What do you mean? Just a little ago, thanks to you..."

His expression shifts, shock overtaking him