You Chose His Chaos Over My Final Goodbye

The day my grandfather was dying, I begged my wife, Paige, to stay.

She abandoned me for a frantic call from her childhood best friend: He just got dumped. He needs me.

I buried Grandpa alone and cut her off completely.

A month later, I came home to find that friend, Grant Donovan, sprawled on my couch, wearing my wedding ring.

He pointed at Grandpas antique pocket watch, the last thing hed touched. "This thing looks morbid," Grant whined. Paige snatched the watch and tossed it into the junk drawer.

"Dont upset Grant," she snapped.

I silently retrieved the watch, pulled out the prestigious acceptance letter Id sealed years ago, and filed for divorce.

Paige found the papers and exploded. "What about your grandfather? How could you leave him?"

I looked at her, my voice dead. "Grandpa died the day you chose to comfort your ex."

Grandpa had been in the ICU for three days. My hand shook as I dialed Paiges number, the busy signal sounding like a siren in my ears.

Finally, she picked up. The background noise was a chaotic murmur.

"Paige," my voice cracked, "you have to get to the hospital. Grandpa... the doctor says it's bad. Really bad."

She paused, and her next words were slightly breathless. "I'm on my way. Hold on, Thea."

The line went dead.

I slid down the cold wall, burying my face in my hands. He was still in there. My only family left in the world.

Paige arrived quickly, her silk sundress faintly wrinkled.

She grabbed my shoulders. "Its okay. Im here."

There was a faint, but unmistakably male, scent of cedar and smokea cologne I didn't recognizeclinging to her.

But I couldnt focus. I clutched her arm like she was the last buoy in a rising tide. "The doctors said... its going to be in the next day or two..."

My throat closed, and the rest became a choked sob.

She patted my back, but the movement felt mechanical, awkward.

We had sat on the corridor bench for less than ten minutes when her phone vibrated in her designer clutch.

She glanced at the screen, her brow immediately furrowing in a deep knot of anxiety. She shot up and walked a few steps away to answer.

I heard her voice, low and laced with a frantic edge I'd never heard directed at me. "Grant? What? Where are you right now? Don't do anything stupid! Im coming!"

She hung up, then rushed back to me, her face a mask of undisguised panic and impatience. "Thea, I have to go! Grants in trouble!"

My heart plummeted. I gripped her hand, my fingernails digging into her flesh. "No! Please, dont leave! Grandpa could go any minute... he just called your name a minute ago..."

Tears streamed down my face, entirely uncontrollable.

She forcefully pried my hand open. The sheer strength of it made my wrist sting.

"Im sorry!" Her words tumbled out. "Grants girlfriend just dumped him. Hes completely shattered. Hes been drinking, and hes threatening to jump off the parking garage roof! I can't let him do that. Hes a life, Thea!"

There was no guilt in her eyes, just the hot, frustrated annoyance of someone whose plans have been derailed.

"And what about my grandfather?" My voice was trembling and thin. "Isn't his life a life?"

She pressed her lips into a hard line, avoiding my gaze. Then, she spun on her heel and sprinted toward the elevators. Her heels struck the polished floor, the sound fast and heavy. She didn't look back.

The ICU doors hissed open. A nurse leaned out, her expression grim. "Mrs. Morgan, he's asking for you. Hurry."

I stumbled inside. Grandpas eyes struggled open, his hazy gaze moving with painful slowness. His lips barely moved.

I threw myself beside the bed, straining to hear the faint, cracked whisper. "Paige... she..."

"Shes coming! Grandpa, just hold on!" I cried, pointlessly clutching his brittle, cold hand.

It stiffened in my palm, growing colder, harder.

The monitor's high-pitched alarm shrieked, slicing through the sterile air.

Doctors and nurses swarmed in. The sound and motion became muted, like watching a chaotic scene through thick glass.

I stood frozen, watching their futile attempts at chest compression and paddles.

After an eternity, one of the doctors stood up, pulled down his mask, and shook his head at me.

Time shattered and fell in on itself.

Grandpa was gone.

The last person on earth who loved me without condition had just slipped away.

Paige never came back.

I dont remember signing the paperwork or walking out of the hospital.

The late autumn wind felt like sandpaper on my face. Walking aimlessly, I pulled out my phone. The screen light stung my eyes.

My fingers moved with their own detached will, opening Grant Donovans social media profile.

His newest post was from half an hour ago.

The picture was a familiar female back, carefully supporting a man's arma gesture of tenderness etched into her bone structure.

The caption: [Thank you for being here. No matter how hard the future is, Im not afraid anymore.]

The location tag read: An expensive private therapy center downtown.

The timestamp was exactly the moment Paige had abandoned me.

I clicked the comment box and typed, one word after another: Maybe I should just vacate my position for you entirely, then?

I hit send, then powered the phone off.

I returned to the small, familiar craftsman house Grandpa and I had shared for twenty years. The faint aroma of his preferred tea still lingered in the air.

I set up a small, temporary memorial in the living room myself. Grandpas face, smiling gently in the small black-and-white photo, was now surrounded by candles.

I knelt on the cold tiles, numbly praying and silently repeating the words I wanted to say to him.

When I turned my phone back on, a barrage of missed calls and texts flooded the screenmost were from Paige.

The newest one was a few minutes old: Are you done being dramatic? Turn your phone on! Hows Grandpa?

I glanced at it and shoved the phone back into my pocket.

The only sounds were the quiet crackle of burning paper and the hollow thud of my own heart.

I stayed by Grandpas photo for three days.

Paige didnt appear.

A new text arrived late on the fourth afternoon.

Come home when youve cooled off. Stop making a scene. I know you're worried about Grandpa. Once I get Grant settled, Ill find a minute to take you to see him.

I stared at the screen, a strange, hysterical sense of absurdity bubbling up.

She thought I was throwing a tantrum? She thought Grandpa was waiting? She thought I was still waiting for her in that house, hoping for a crumb of her pity?

My finger tapped the cold glass. I replied with only a few words: Im at Grandpas house. I wont be coming back for now.

Then, I powered down again.

I began sorting through Grandpas things.

Every item spoke volumes, each one a crushing weight on my chest.

Paige called a few times during this process.

I answered once. Her voice was flat and carried a tone of suffocating condescension. "Thea, still pouting? Grant is in a really bad place right now; he cant be left alone. As soon as he's slightly stable, I promise Ill take you to the hospital to see Grandpa, okay?"

I looked at the worn, half-century-old teapot in my handa small chip near the spout.

I said quietly, "Don't bother."

She seemed to choke on her words.

A few days later, I told her I was coming back to the main house to pick up some seasonal clothes.

Her reaction was unexpectedly explosive: "No! Grants staying here right now! He doesnt want to see you, and I don't want you coming back here to upset him."

The next moment, my phone buzzed with an incoming transaction.

A substantial amount of money. Her accompanying text: Here's some money. Get something nice for Grandpa. Be sensible.

I looked at the cold numbers, then at Grandpas gentle, smiling face in the photo.

I accepted the transfer. It was the least she owed him.

As for that house, I wouldn't step foot in it again until I was ready to leave for good.

A month passed. I needed a crucial notarized document that was kept in the main house.

I opened the front door, and a rich wave of that strange cedar cologne immediately washed over me, drowning out the house's familiar scents.

In the living room, Grant Donovan was draped across the sofa. The gray cashmere throw blanket I had personally chosen for our wedding was tossed casually over his legs.

He was sipping from my preferred black ceramic mug.

He simply raised his eyes when he saw me, a smug, half-smile playing on his lips. He made no move to get up.

Paige emerged from the study, freezing when she saw me. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes, instantly replaced by a look of combined fatigue and forced annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" Her tone was harsh. "I told you not to come back right now."

I ignored her and headed straight for the study.

The document was tucked neatly inside the desk drawer.

As I reached for it, the silver chain of the watch I wore around my neck slipped from beneath my collar.

It was the only personal item Grandpa had left me, an old, plain silver pocket watch.

Grant's gaze landed on the watch and snapped tight, as if he'd been scalded.

"Paige..." His voice instantly took on a whiny, vulnerable quality, and he pointed a finger at me. "That watch... its so old. It looks like bad luck... I... I feel kind of weird..."

He pressed a hand to his chest, his brow furrowed, seemingly in real distress.

Paige exploded into action. She rushed to me, her face a storm of naked tension over Grant's discomfort.

"Did you hear him?" Her voice was low and commanding. "Grant is emotionally fragile right now. He cant handle seeing things like that. Take it off. Dont upset him."

I instinctively covered the watch with my hand. My fingertips were ice cold.

"It was my grandpas," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.

My refusal seemed to ignite her rage. She reached out violently, grabbed the chain, and gave it a hard yank.

The silver links tore, searing a line of sharp pain across the back of my neck.

The small watch, carrying the last flicker of Grandpa's warmth, was violently snatched into her hand.

She didn't even look at it. She pulled open the bottom drawer of the entertainment centerthe one crammed with miscellaneous junkand threw the watch inside like garbage, where it mixed with old batteries, broken remotes, and forgotten charging cables.

With a final, sharp thud, she slammed the drawer shut, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

That muted thud was a wrecking ball, smashing the last splinter of sentimentality I held in my heart.

Grandpas final memory was, in her eyes, less important than a single furrow in Grant Donovan's brow.

The study door clicked shut behind me, muffling Grants low, triumphant murmur in the living room.

I leaned my back against the cold wood paneling and slowly slid to the floor.