Across town, Jane sat beside her grandmother's hospital bed with a small container in her hands.
The room was quiet, the only sounds the soft beep of monitors and the distant hum of the hospital. The fluorescent lights were dimmed, casting the room in a pale, grey glow.
Her grandmother pushed the hospital tray away, her nose wrinkling in disdain. "I don't want that."
Jane looked at the untouched food—a pale, unappetizing slab of chicken, overcooked vegetables, and a sad mound of mashed potatoes. "You need to eat."
"I don't like it." Her grandmother's voice was stubborn.
"You haven't even tried it." Jane's voice was patient.
"I know what it tastes like." Her grandmother crossed her arms weakly.
Jane sighed, setting the tray aside. "What do you want?"
Her grandmother thought for a moment, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. "Rice."
Jane blinked. "Rice?"
"With the stew you used to make." Her grandmother's voice softened, almost wistful.
Jane smiled faintly. "The one you always said needed more pepper?"
"That one." Her grandmother nodded.
Jane reached into the bag beside her chair, her fingers finding the familiar shape of a covered container. "I brought something for you."
Her grandmother looked at her suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. "What?"
Jane pulled out the container, its surface still warm. "Your food."
Her grandmother's eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across her face. "You brought food from home?"
"Yes." Jane's voice was quiet.
"I thought you had school." Her grandmother's brow furrowed.
"I do." Jane set the container on the table.
"And you still had time to cook?" Her grandmother's voice was incredulous.
Jane smiled, small and tired. "I cooked it before I came."
Her grandmother looked at the container again, her expression softening. "You knew I wouldn't eat the hospital food."
"You complained about it yesterday." Jane's voice was teasing.
"I did not complain." Her grandmother's voice was indignant.
Jane gave her a pointed look. "You pushed the tray away and told the nurse the rice had no taste."
Her grandmother looked deeply offended. "It didn't."
Jane laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. She opened the container, and the rich aroma of stew and spices filled the small room.
She placed the food onto a clean plate she'd brought with her, then adjusted the small table beside the bed.
Her grandmother watched her, her eyes following Jane's movements. "You remembered the pepper?"
"Of course." Jane's voice was matter-of-fact.
"And the vegetables?" Her grandmother's voice was softer now.
"Yes." Jane arranged the plate.
"And not too much oil?"
Jane looked up, a smile tugging at her lips. "I know how you like it."
Her grandmother's expression softened, her eyes glistening. "You always remember."
Jane picked up the fork, the metal cool against her fingers. "I grew up eating your food. I had to pay attention."
Her grandmother smiled, a faint, tired curve. Jane took a small bite and held the fork toward her.
Her grandmother looked at the fork, then at Jane. "I can feed myself."
"I know." Jane's voice was patient.
"Then give me the fork." Her grandmother's voice was firm.
Jane shook her head gently. "Not yet."
"Jane." Her grandmother's voice was warning.
"You've just woken up." Jane's voice was soft. "Let me."
Her grandmother sighed, the sound long-suffering. "You're becoming bossy."
Jane smiled. "You raised me."
"I regret it already." Her grandmother's voice was dry.
Jane laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room. "Open your mouth."
Her grandmother reluctantly obeyed.
She chewed slowly, her expression thoughtful. Jane watched her face, searching for any sign of displeasure.
"Well?" Jane's voice was anxious.
Her grandmother swallowed. "Better."
Jane's shoulders sagged with relief. "Just better?"
"Much better." Her grandmother's voice was genuine now.
Jane's smile widened. "I knew it."
Her grandmother took another bite. "You put enough pepper this time."
"I always put enough." Jane's voice was indignant.
"No." Her grandmother shook her head. "Last time you were afraid of killing me."
Jane laughed. "You're the one who said you couldn't taste anything."
"I couldn't." Her grandmother's voice was defensive.
Jane laughed again, the sound easing some of the tension in the room.
For the next few minutes, she fed her grandmother slowly, waiting between bites, watching her chew and swallow.
Her grandmother ate more than Jane expected, the plate nearly empty by the time she leaned back against the pillow with a satisfied sigh.
"That was good." Her grandmother's voice was drowsy.
Jane covered the container, her movements careful. "I'll bring more tomorrow."
"You don't have to." Her grandmother's voice was quiet.
"I know." Jane's voice was soft.
Her grandmother looked at her, her eyes sharp despite her exhaustion. "Jane."
Jane began packing the food away, her hands busy. "Hmm?"
"You're tired." Her grandmother's voice was gentle.
"I'm fine." Jane's voice was too quick.
"You have dark circles under your eyes." Her grandmother's voice was knowing.
"I didn't sleep much." Jane's voice was quiet.
"I can see that." Her grandmother's gaze was steady.
Jane avoided her eyes, her fingers fumbling with the container lid.
Her grandmother reached out and caught her hand, her grip weak but insistent. "You don't have to sit here every minute."
"I know." Jane's voice was thick.
"You have school." Her grandmother's voice was firm.
"I know." Jane swallowed.
"You have your own life." Her grandmother's fingers tightened around hers.
Jane finally looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You're my life too."
Her grandmother went quiet. The only sound was the soft beep of the monitor.
Jane squeezed her hand, her fingers warm. "You raised me. You stayed when nobody else could. You made sure I had somewhere to sleep, something to eat, somewhere to go to school."
Her voice softened, cracked at the edges. "So I'm staying now."
Her grandmother's eyes glistened, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "You shouldn't blame yourself."
Jane's fingers tightened around hers. "I wasn't here."
"You didn't know." Her grandmother's voice was fierce.
"I should have called." Jane's voice broke.
"You couldn't have known I would collapse." Her grandmother's grip was surprisingly strong.
"But I should have checked on you, regularly." Jane's voice was desperate.
Her grandmother squeezed her hand weakly. "Listen to me."
Jane looked up.
"You came when you found out." Her grandmother's voice was steady, certain. "You came."
She brushed her thumb over Jane's knuckles. "That is what matters."
Jane nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.
Her grandmother smiled faintly. "Now stop looking like you're about to cry."
Jane gave a small, wet laugh. "I'm not crying."
"You've always been a terrible liar." Her grandmother's voice was gentle.
Jane wiped quickly beneath one eye. "Eat your food next time before criticizing it."
Her grandmother smiled. "Bring the same thing."
"I will." Jane's voice was steady now.
"More pepper." Her grandmother's voice was teasing.
Jane shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Of course."
Her grandmother closed her eyes, still holding Jane's hand. Her breathing slowed, deepened, settling into an easier rhythm. The lines of pain around her mouth softened.
Jane remained beside her, her thumb moving gently over her grandmother's knuckles.
Her phone sat untouched inside her bag. She didn't know how many times Sophia had called. She didn't know Sophia had gone to the café. She didn't know she'd stood outside her dorm looking for her.
Right now, Jane only watched her grandmother's chest rise and fall, each breath a small reassurance.
She leaned back in the chair, her hand still clasped in her grandmother's.
Tomorrow, she'd worry about school. Later, she'd worry about everything else.
For now, she stayed.