Page 120 of If Love Had A Manual

My heart hammers.

“He’s a good man.” There’s no hesitation. No teasing. Just the truth.

“He is,” I agree as he reaches for my hand again. “You’re not dying on me today, are you?”

He tries to laugh. It comes out as more of a wheeze.

“Not today,” he says. “But someday.”

I blink fast to fight the burn behind my eyes.

“My house,” he tells me, voice suddenly sharper. “It’s yours.”

“What?”

“I left some money to your brothers and sister. They’ll be taken care of. But everything else—the house, the rest of the money—it’s for you.”

My whole chest goes tight. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Listen,” he says, fingers wrapping tightly around mine, stronger than I thought he could still manage. “You’ve spent your whole life putting out fires for everyone else. Taking care of people. Giving parts of yourself away without ever asking for anything in return.” His breath catches. So does mine. “When I go, I want to leave you with something that gives you choices. A way to figure out what you want. Not what anyone else expects.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Grandpa—”

“I know you love being a nanny to that little girl. I see it. You’re like your mother in all the best ways. You’ve got her heart.” His voice trembles. “But I also know you’ve never really stopped feeling lost. You’ve never truly picked something for yourself. I’m not telling you to give them up.” I know he means Wes and Rosie. “I don’t think you could, but find something for yourself along the way. Go and do that master’s you spoke about before.”

I wipe my cheek. The tears have officially mutinied.

“When you figure it out,” he goes on, “sell the house. Use the money. Build something you love. A business. A life. A future. I don’t know. Something that makes you smile.”

I shake my head, brushing tears off my jaw. “I don’t want your house or your money. I want you.”

“I know, baby girl.” His voice is thick now, barely a whisper. “But if I can’t be here forever, at least I can leave something behind that matters.”

He’s quiet for a while after that. His breathing evens out, but his grip never loosens on my hand.

I sit there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, willing him to keep doing it.

Because I’m not ready.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

But if this is his way of preparing me, of loving me the only way he knows how, then I’m listening.

I’m holding on.

He eventually dozes off with my hand in his, so I slip free to let him rest and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Don’t you dare scare me, old man. I’m not ready to lose you.”

He doesn’t wake up. He just exhales a slow, uneven breath.

He’ll be okay. He has to be.

In the hallway, I pull a nurse aside and ask her to call me if anything changes, promising that I’ll be back first thing in the morning.

Still, something weighs heavily on my chest as I walk to my car, like I’m leaving too much behind.

There’s a text from Wes when I check my phone.

Wes:How’d your visit with Frank go?

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