“So, you have returned,” my grandfather stated, and his once powerful voice turned rough, almost inaudible. His blond hair had turned gray. He might be old, but his eyesight and his memory were clear as crystal.
“My grandson,” he called as he looked upon me. He was sitting on his favorite padded wooden chair. I stood in front of him.
“Yes, I have, Grandfather.” My respect for him did not change. He was the only person who favored me in the family.
“Yes, yes.” He forced a smile. “You know that I’ve been waiting for you to accept what’s rightfully yours, finally.”