to live for the hope of it all.

Chapter 64

April 28th, 2024

"I'm so tired of being the girl that I am,
Every good thing has turned into something I dread,
And I'm playing the victim so well in my head,
But it's me who's been making the bed..."

Bailey

I'm so tired.

You can't say that.

He's tired, not you.

But I'm so tired.

"Hey, cheater!" Grandpa Matt croaks out with a soft smile. "You can't put a whole new color on another unless it's the same number."

"Right," I smile softly, picking up the uno card I had just placed. "I knew that."

He was more awake today, and had a little bit more energy than he's had the last few days. So when he requested a card game, I was in no place to deny him.

He's dying.

But I can feel my heart.

Right here, in this moment, I can feel my heart.

I hadn't been to school in a week, and it hasn't been my top priority. My grandfather has tried to get me to go, but every time I step outside this house I'm reminded that he might not be here when I get back.

And it all hurts.

Everything hurts.

"Harlow," Grandpa Matt says slowly, looking over my shoulder with a fond, tired smile.

Wren?

Turning around, I'm met with my best friend's hesitant gaze as she stands in the doorway. Her eyes take in everything, starting with my grandfather, and I watch as she swallows a lump in her throat before forcing a smile.

"Hey, Oliver," she says softly, then her eyes meet mine. "Bailey."

"You're here," I say, swallowing a lump of my own before standing.

I hadn't seen Wren since dinner that night, and I knew it was because she still wanted to give me space. But since things have gotten worse, I thought she'd have disregarded my feelings to be here.

She'd never do that.

She cares too much about you to do that.

So much so that she would hurt herself if it meant protecting you.

"Thank Christ for it," Grandpa Matt laughs lightly from behind me, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit. Grabbing his cup of water from the table next to us, I hover it over him as he takes a sip. "Thanks kiddo, get over here Harlow."

Wren walks over to the other side of my grandfather's bed, a bag in hand.

Her overnight bag.

"Are you staying?" I ask, eyeing the bag.

Please say yes.

"I'm uh, not sure yet," she admits softly, and then her eyes meet my grandfathers. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm on my deathbed," he jokes, and I cringe as the dagger in my heart twists painfully. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," Wren says, smiling softly at his crude joke.

Of course she is.

She's had more time to grapple with this.

Months.