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His eyes opened.
Blinked. Landed on me.
Ethan ushered Mrs. Grant and Evelyn out.
I sat by the bed. Took his hand.
“Grandpa. I'm here.”
He smiled weakly. Lips moved beneath the mask.
Leaned close.
Raspy whisper, “Liv… Grant family failed you.”
Tears fell. “No! You were wonderful. I'm the unlucky one.”
Outside, Ethan sat alone on a bench. Head down.
I walked out. He looked up. Stood.
Saw my tears. Understood.
“I'll drive you.”
In the car, Evelyn's cloying perfume hit me. Nausea surged.
I stumbled out. Dry-heaved.
Ethan rushed over. “Liv?”
Waved him off. “Just… hungry.”
He bought my favorite pastries. Took a cab. Gave the driver my old address.
I protested. “Ethan, I can't stay there. Evelyn…”
“She doesn't stay there.”
His words hit like a stone. Ripples in my heart.
Home. Everything untouched.
Ethan said softly, “Had it cleaned weekly.”
Silent, I sat on the sofa.
He sat beside me. Awkward silence.
Remembering the news, I asked, “The pregnancy… true?”
He denied instantly. “No. Not pregnant.”
Relief flooded me.
Ethan leaned back. “Evelyn… relapsed.”
I froze. “What?”
He said after the divorce, Evelyn seemed fine. Then, shopping downtown, she saw him—the crime boss's son. Broke down.
He'd been taking her to therapy. Photos got twisted.
Long silence. “She'll get better.”
He didn't want to talk about her. Held out his hand. “Can I… feel him?”
Heart softened. Guided his hand to my bump.
Feeling the kick, Ethan smiled. Truly smiled.
Haven't seen that in ages.
That night, Ethan stayed. Slept on the couch.
Midnight. Bathroom run. Found him curled awkwardly.
Poor guy. Too tall for that couch.
Tiptoed over. Pulled the fallen blanket up.
His eyes snapped open.
“Sorry. Woke you.”
“Why are you up?” Voice rough.
“Baby presses on my bladder. All night.”
He got up. Helped me back to bed. “Sleep, Liv.”
“Night.”
Ethan planned to stay two days.
Morning call. Evelyn.
He left with a promise.
I touched the crumpled blanket on the sofa.
She always comes first.
Stupid to hope.
