After that, I kept thinking about how she'd made it all the way from some tiny mountain village on her own—a young girl, step by step, with no one behind her. So I helped her. At work, in life, wherever I could.
When I couldn't, I asked Les to.
And that was how it went—helping, helping, helping—until the two of them helped themselves into the same bed.
"Les." I turned to face him. "My grandmother raised me. She's in the ICU right now, and I need to see her one last time."
"You know how much she means to me, Les." My voice wouldn't stop shaking.
He said nothing.
My phone buzzed again.
A message from my mother: Grandma's fading fast. Where are you?
I gripped the phone until my knuckles went white.
Les saw.
He was quiet for two seconds. Then he reached out and wiped the tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb.
"Don't cry." His voice was soft, his thumb pausing against my cheekbone. "Grandma's going to be fine. Trust me."
"Just let her apologize," he said. "She feels terrible about it. All you have to do is nod. Then I'll give you the keys."
Lila was sobbing beside him, nodding along: "Hope… please just accept my apology… I won't be able to live with myself otherwise…"