Ethan’s POV.
The VIP wing was silent and sterile, all polished marble and soft lighting, nothing like the chaotic, antiseptic stench and frantic footsteps of the ER we’d just left.
We stopped outside Grandpa’s room.
My hand hovered over the door handle. Cold metal under my palm.
“What if he hates me for this?” I whispered. I didn’t mean to say it out loud.
Heather’s eyes met mine for two seconds. Then she looked down again. “He could never hate you, sir. Not for trying.”
I took a breath and pushed the door open.
The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor. Grandpa lay propped up on pillows, an oxygen tube under his nose, face gaunt but eyes sharp.
He saw me, and his face lit up.
A bright, real smile. Despite the sickness etched into his skin, despite the
