Chapter 176

• The ward was dim, the overhead lights reduced to a dull, clinical hum that made the machines feel louder than they really were. Heart monitors beeped in slow, steady pulses, but the rhythm was wrong—too slow, too shallow—as if the old man lying in the bed were borrowing time rather than living it. Howard stood at the foot of the bed, his hands braced against the metal rail, knuckles white. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw tight enough to crack teeth, and his blue eyes were locked on Grandpa Wendell’s pale face, as if staring at him long enough could force him back to life.
• Charlotte stood beside him, one hand lightly resting on his arm, the other gripping the edge of the bed like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her hazel eyes were red and swollen, streaks of mascara dried beneath them, but the tears still came—soft, silent drops she couldn’t hold back any longer. The hospital smell—bleach, antiseptic, and faint traces of blood—wrapped around her like a memory. She knew this scene. She knew this exact quiet, this same fragile hope, this same crushing fear. In her past life, she had stood in almost this exact spot, watching the same monitor, the same face, the same moment where everything changed.
• “Grandpa,” Howard whispered, his voice rough and breaking. “You’re not dying. You hear me? You’re not leaving me.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his fingers tightening on the rail. “You’re tough. You’ve always been tough. You’re not going to die in a car crash like some… some random nobody.” His voice cracked, pain ripping through the anger. “You’re not dying.”