Tubes ran into my arm, and a monitor blinked beside the bed.
Later, I learned I had been unconscious for eleven days after a car accident.
Then I noticed my nine-year-old grandson, Walter, curled beside me, one hand clutching my blanket.
He had lived with me since my son died four years earlier. I packed his lunches, walked him to school, and knew exactly which night-light he needed when he couldn’t sleep.
“Walter?”
His eyes snapped open.
For a second, he simply stared.
Then he threw himself against my chest. “Granny!”
He was crying so hard I could barely understand him.
A nurse hurried in, smiling. “He’s been waiting for this. That boy has hardly wanted to leave your side.”
I stroked his hair. “Sweetheart, you’ve been sleeping here?”
He nodded.
“Why aren’t you at home with Aunt Lisa?”
At my daughter’s name, his entire body went rigid.
Instead of answering, Walter glanced toward the door. His expression changed.
He moved closer and whispered into my ear. “Granny, next time Aunt comes, pretend you’re still asleep.”
I stared at him. “Why?”
He squeezed my hand painfully tight. “Please. Then you’ll understand why I haven’t left you. You need to hear what she says when she thinks you’re asleep.”
Before I could ask anything else, footsteps stopped outside.
Walter’s eyes widened. “Granny. She’s coming.”
I barely managed to close my eyes before the door opened.
Lisa walked in. “Still waiting for her to wake up? That’s pathetic, Walter. You really don’t know when to give up, do you?”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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