Chapter 2

I was heating up a plate of food for him when I heard a gasp from the living room, followed by a heavy thud.

I rushed back in. Grandpa Rufus was on the floor, his body convulsing, his face turning a frightening shade of blue.

"Grandpa!"

I grabbed my phone, my fingers fumbling as I dialed 911. The dispatcher' s voice was calm, but my own was shaking. I knelt beside him, trying to remember the first aid I learned in high school, feeling utterly useless.

The paramedics arrived quickly, their faces grim as they worked on him. The local hospital was understaffed, they said, especially during a holiday week. It might be a while.

While they stabilized him, I tried calling my dad. No answer. I called Uncle Scott. The call went straight to voicemail.

Desperate, I opened our family's WhatsApp group. My fingers flew across the screen.

"Grandpa collapsed. He's in bad shape. Paramedics are here. Please, someone answer."

I sent the message. The "read" receipts appeared under it almost instantly. Scott, Anthony, Sylvia. They all saw it.

Silence.

No replies. No calls. Nothing.

A kind neighbor, Mrs. Gable, heard the commotion and came over. She held my hand while the paramedics loaded Grandpa into the ambulance. She followed me to the hospital in her own car, staying with me in the sterile, quiet waiting room. She was more of a family than my own blood.

Hours later, a tired-looking doctor came out. His expression told me everything before he even spoke.

"Your grandfather is stable for now," he said, his voice gentle. "But his lungs... they're failing. The disease from the mill has progressed too far. I'm sorry. He has a month, at most."

The words hit me, and the floor seemed to drop out from under me. A month. That's all he had left.