“I’m sorry,” Emily whispered. “Just hold on a little longer.”
I couldn’t wait anymore. I reached for my phone, preparing to call our mother. But at that exact moment, the door opened.
Emily stood in the doorway. Her face was pale, and she was wearing medical gloves. Bandages and several small bottles
were sticking out of the black bag.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
I pushed past her and entered the room.
Grandpa was sitting on the edge of his bed. His shirt was lifted, and there was a large bandage on the side of his abdomen.
The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the room.
“What is going on?” I almost shouted.
Grandpa lowered his eyes. Emily slowly removed her gloves.
“Grandpa had surgery two months ago.”
“We know that. But the doctor said he had recovered.”
“He hasn’t.”
Emily explained that Grandpa’s wound had become infected after the operation. But he had refused to return to the hospital
because the treatment would be expensive. He didn’t want our mother to take out another loan. Mom was already working
two jobs to pay the household bills and cover my college expenses.
Emily was in her final year of nursing school. With the guidance of one of her instructors, she had learned how to clean and
