Wyatt drops out of college to care for his dying grandpa, trading textbooks for late nights and tough choices. But when someone from his past knocks on the door, everything changes — and Wyatt’s quiet sacrifice becomes the start of something he never saw coming.
I stood on the porch, staring at the chipped paint along the railing. How many times had Grandpa mentioned fixing it? Too many to count. I’d always promised to help when I had time.
I pushed open the door, bracing myself for what waited inside. The house smelled the same: a mix of old books, coffee, and the pine-scented cleaner Grandpa insisted on using because Grandma had liked it.
Some things never changed, even when everything else did.
“That you, kiddo?” His voice came from his bedroom, weaker than I remembered, but still carrying that unmistakable warmth.
“Yeah, Grandpa. It’s me.” I followed his voice, my duffel bag heavy on my shoulder.
He was sitting in bed, thinner than when I’d seen him last during a video call last month. The hospice nurse had warned me, but seeing it was different.
Grandpa’s cheeks had hollowed and his clothes hung loose, but his eyes were still sharp as ever.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Come, give your old man a hug.”
I crossed the room and carefully wrapped my arms around him. He felt so fragile, like bird bones beneath my hands.
“You don’t have to give me the kid gloves treatment, Wyatt,” he joked, patting my back. “I’m not dead yet.”
“Grandpa,” I scolded, pulling back to look at him.
“Oh, lighten up.” He waved a dismissive hand. “If I can’t joke about it, what’s the point?”
I busied myself adjusting his pillows and checking his medication on the side table, but my heart was aching. Grandpa had been everything to me since my parents died when I was 10.
