Chapter Eleven

The sound of rain tapping against the window filled the silence of the room. I sat on the edge of my bed, clutching the worn photograph Grandpa had given me years ago. It was of us... my head resting on his shoulders, both of us laughing. He always said I was his second chance at life. And now… it felt like that life was slipping through my fingers.

The call had come just an hour ago.

“Emmah… you should come. It’s time.”

I couldn’t breathe when the nurse said those words. I knew Grandpa hadn’t been feeling well, but we all thought it was just another scare like the stroke, like the fainting spells. But this time it was different. This time, it was terminal.

The air in my chest felt heavy as I drove through the familiar streets. The same streets he’d once taught me to drive,thinking I didn’t know how to. The memories that were once sweet and gentle were painful now. I wanted to go back to when all he needed was rest and a cup of warm ginger tea. Not... this.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and something colder, something that felt like goodbye.

I hesitated in the doorway of his private room. The nurse gave me a small nod, her eyes soft with the kind of sympathy that always came too late.

There he was. The only person in that house who was nice to me.

Now lying in a hospital bed, wires snaking from his body to machines that beeped far too slowly.

His face had thinned out. His hands trembled. But when he saw me, his eyes lit up, still him, still Grandpa, even if everything else was fading.

“Emmah,” he whispered.

I rushed to his side, kneeling, gripping his hand with both of mine. “Grandpa, please, don’t talk like... like this is the end.”

He gave a weak laugh. “Everything ends, my girl. But not love. Not the lessons we leave behind.”

I bit my lip, trying to be strong. He hated seeing me cry.

He raised a trembling hand and brushed my cheek. “You’re still the strongest person I know.”

“No,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “That was always you.”

He smiled. “We both know that’s not true. But… there’s one thing I need before I go.”

My heart clenched and there it was.

His final wish.

He held out a small notebook from under the blanket. It was frayed at the edges, and I recognized it immediately. His dreams journal. He used to write in it every morning at 5 a.m., even when the house was falling apart.

I opened it, hands shaking, and found a letter addressed to me.

To my Emmah. My bright light. My second chance.

Tears blurred my eyes.

“I want you to live free,” he said quietly, “but not empty. I know you've carried so much pain, and I know you feel like you’ve been nothing but broken glass, sharp and hard to touch. But you’re more than that. You’re mosaic, my girl. Beautiful because of the cracks.”

I couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped.

“Grandpa...”

He squeezed my hand. “I need to know that you’ll open your heart again. That you won’t spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for surviving. I need to know that you’ll find a way to forgive the world… even yourself.”

I nodded, crying now, shameless and broken.

“I promise,” I whispered.

But he wasn’t done.

“And Emmah…”

“Yes?”

“Let the boy love you.”

I stilled.

“Damian,” he added, giving me a knowing look.

“Grandpa, it’s complicated.”

“Life always is. But you’ve got a good man there. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like you hung the damn stars. Don't waste that.”

I lowered my head, his words carving into my heart.

He reached up with the last of his strength and placed the letter in my palm. “Don’t read it yet. Save it. For when it hurts the most.”

I wrapped my arms around him, afraid to let go. Afraid this was really it.

And just like that, he whispered, “I’m tired, baby girl.”

His breaths slowed. The machine beeped slower. Fainter.

Then silence.

That kind of silence you don’t forget. The kind that screams louder than any noise ever could.

The days that followed blurred.

We buried him three days later, under a giant oak tree, his favorite spot. He always said it felt like peace. I wore the bracelet he gave me and kept the letter pressed to my chest the entire time.

Everyone kept asking if I was okay. I lied. Told them I was fine. Told them he’d lived a good life.

But inside, I was screaming.

I spent nights on the floor of my room, holding his shirt, crying into the fabric like it could bring him back. The only person who didn’t press me was Declan. He didn’t say much but he was always there.

One night, about a week later, I sat outside under the stars where Grandpa used to sit and hum old songs.

Damian joined me, bringing two cups of tea. He sat close but didn’t touch me.

We just sat in silence until I asked, “Did he say anything to you before...?”

Damian hesitated.

“He told me not to give up on you.”

I turned to look at him.

“I told him I wouldn’t,” he said simply.

I felt something twist in my chest. The grief. The guilt. The love I didn’t want to admit.

“I don’t know how to live without him.”

“You don’t have to know. Just… let yourself feel it.”

He touched my hand and this time, I didn’t pull away.

The next morning, I opened the letter.

"My Emmah,

If you're reading this, then I'm gone. But I want you to know something. I never saw you as broken. I saw you as brave. Braver than anyone I’ve ever known. You gave me a reason to live again when I had none. And now, it’s your turn.

Don’t waste your life carrying mine. Let go of what you couldn’t fix. Embrace what you can still heal. And when you feel lost, just look at the stars. I’m there. Always.

Love,

Grandpa Richard. 

I folded the letter and held it to my heart.

Maybe I didn’t have all the answers.

But for the first time in a long while… I felt like I could breathe again.

And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to let someone love me without trying to run from it.