ᑌᑎᗷᖇOKᗴᑎ

Promises

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors and the rhythmic hum of the ventilator. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, but it couldn't overshadow the warmth that still radiated from my grandfather. Even in his frailty, he carried a presence that filled the room with love and memories

"Meu raio de sol" he murmured, his voice weak but still filled with the same unshakable affection he'd had for me my whole life 

"Estou aqui, Vô" I whispered, leaning closer to him, afraid to miss even the faintest word. His face was gaunt, his skin as thin and pale as parchment, but his eyes—those kind, familiar eyes—still held the spark that had been my anchor for as long as I could remember

"You've grown into such a strong woman" he said, his Portuguese wrapping around me like a blanket of comfort. The words carried me back to countless afternoons in Brazil, under the warm sun that seemed to shine just a little brighter when he was near "I'm so proud of you, Isa"

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. Not now. I forced a smile, even though my throat felt tight "You're the one who made me strong, Vovô"

His frail hand squeezed mine lightly, a gesture that carried the weight of years of love. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, though it was more air than sound "That's because I knew. I've always known. From the moment you were born" He paused, his breathing shallow but steady "You remind me so much of your mãe"

My heart twisted at the mention of my mother. He hadn't spoken of her in years—not because he didn't love her, but because the grief was too heavy. I felt my chest tighten, and I whispered "Really?"

"Sim" he said, his voice a little stronger, as if the memory of her gave him life, even for just a moment  "She would be so proud of you, minha menina. So proud"

The tears I'd been holding back slipped free, warm streaks down my cheeks. I tightened my grip on his hand, hoping he could feel the love and gratitude I couldn't put into words "I hope so" I whispered "I hope I'm making her proud"

His smile returned, faint but unwavering "You are. Both of us... we're proud of you"

His breathing grew slower, more labored, and I felt a tremor of panic ripple through me "Promise me something, Isa" he said, his voice a little weaker now, but still steady enough to pierce through the haze of my emotions "Don't carry the weight alone. Life... it's not meant to be lived that way. Let people in. Let them help you"

"I promise" I said, the words barely audible as my voice cracked. I clung to his hand like a lifeline, desperate to hold on to every moment, every second

"That's my girl" he murmured, his eyelids fluttering closed "Meu raio de sol... nunca pare de brilhar" {My sunshine, never stop shining}

I stayed by his side long after he drifted to sleep, his hand still clasped in mine. I watched the faint rise and fall of his chest, listened to the soft hum of the ventilator, and let the rhythm of his breathing lull me into a restless slumber

Sometime in the early hours, exhaustion overtook me. My head rested against the edge of the bed, and even in my dreams, I held his hand

When I woke, sunlight was filtering through the hospital blinds, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. For a moment, everything felt peaceful. But the steady hum of the machines had changed. The rhythmic beeping was gone, replaced by a long, mournful tone

"Vovô?" My voice cracked as I sat up, dread sinking like a stone in my stomach. I reached for him, my fingers trembling. His face was serene, his expression soft and peaceful, as if he'd simply drifted into a dream he didn't want to wake from