Jane waited outside the emergency room doors, her hand still clutching Mia's.
A doctor showed up a few minutes later, looking tired but focused.
"Jane?" he asked.
She jumped to her feet. "Yes."
He introduced himself. "I'm Dr. Miller. I'm looking after your grandmother."
Jane's mouth was dry. "How is she?"
He glanced down at the chart in his hands. "She's stable right now, but we found something. She needs more treatment."
Jane's grip on her bag tightened. "What kind of treatment?"
"Surgery."
That word hit Jane so hard she barely heard the rest.
"Surgery?" she echoed.
He nodded. "Yes. There are always risks, but we're not rushing. We'll stabilize her, do a few more tests, and make sure she's strong enough."
She tried to keep her voice steady. "When?"
"If things go well, next week."
Jane nodded, slow and numb. "Next week."
"That's our plan."
"Can I…" Her words caught. "Can I see her?"
"Of course. She hasn't woken up yet, but you can sit with her."
Jane didn't wait for anything else—she went straight in.
Her grandmother looked small in the hospital bed. Jane hovered for a second before sliding into the chair by her side.
She reached out, tangled their fingers together. "Grandma?"
No response. Just the sound of the machines.
Jane circled her thumb over her grandmother's hand. "It's me."
Still nothing. Her voice shrank to a whisper. "I came as soon as I heard."
It almost broke. "You should have called me." Then she let out a tiny, breathless laugh. "No… I should've called you."
Mia stood quietly by the door, not wanting to intrude.
Jane stared at her lap. "I was supposed to check in yesterday." She paused. The excuses felt empty even as she said them. "School. Work. I was busy."
She ground her jaw. Who cared about all that now? "I should've made time." Her head bowed until her forehead rested right where their hands joined. "I'm sorry."
Mia slipped out quietly, leaving Jane alone.
Jane stayed. She stayed through the nurses coming in to check her grandmother's blood pressure. Through doctors talking in hushed voices. Through the quiet that settled like dust. Every once in a while, she whispered something small—little stories about school, about Mia, about the professor who loved long essays. She did not mention Sophia.
Not because Sophia didn't matter, but today Jane's world had narrowed to just one person.
Time crawled. Late that afternoon, something changed. Her grandmother's fingers twitched.
Jane's head shot up. "Grandma?"
Her eyelids fluttered. Jane shot to her feet so fast her chair scraped the floor. "Grandma, can you hear me?"
Slowly, her grandmother's eyes opened. She looked lost for a second, then found Jane's face. "Jane?"
Tears welled up before Jane could blink them away. "I'm here."
Her grandmother's lips parted. "You came."
Jane managed a laugh, shaky and wet with relief. "Of course I came."
Her grandmother tried a smile. "You… you have school."
Jane squeezed her hand. "School can wait. I don't care right now."
A faint smile. "You always care about school."
"Not today," Jane said, firm.
She wrapped her hands around her grandmother's. "You scared me."
A weak apology: "I'm sorry."
Jane shook her head—hard. "Don't. Don't say sorry."
Her grandmother studied her for a long moment. "You look tired."
Jane laughed, half sobbing. "That's what you're worried about?"
"You haven't changed," her grandmother said with affection.
Tears burned fresh. "I should've been here."
Her grandmother's brow knit in a tiny frown. "Don't."
"I should've called." Jane's voice shook. "I should've checked on you."
Her grandmother squeezed her hand, just barely. "You're here now."
They went quiet for a bit.
"That's what matters."
Jane looked down, tears slipping free.
Her grandmother tried a gentle scolding. "Don't cry."
"I'm not," Jane insisted.
"You always did lie badly."
Jane gave a broken laugh. "That's your fault. You raised me."
Her grandmother smiled—soft and proud. "Then I did something right."
Jane stayed until evening set in. Finally, a nurse came by and reminded her the visiting hours were over.
Jane didn't want to leave. Not at all. But she had classes the next morning, and they needed her grandmother to rest.
She bent down and kissed her grandmother's forehead. "I'll be back."
Her grandmother's eyes were already closing. "Go study," she whispered.
Jane forced a smile. "Yes, Grandma."
"And eat," came the usual order.
"I will."
"And sleep."
Jane snorted. "You're still bossy."
Her grandmother's lips quirked. "Always."
Jane squeezed her hand once more. Then she left.
Sophia waited outside Jane's dorm room that night. She knocked. No answer.
She knocked again, pressing her ear to the door. "Jane?"
Still nothing.
She checked her phone. Nothing. Called—one ring, straight to voicemail.
She tried the handle. Locked. Not even Mia was around.
Sophia just stood there a moment, staring at the door that suddenly felt a mile thick. Yes, maybe Jane was busy. But now, standing there in an empty hallway, the excuses felt thin. Something was off.
She opened her messages and typed: Where are you? Then she deleted it. Tried again: Please call me when you see this. Sent.
She lingered outside the door, phone gripped in her hand, hoping.
She called one more time. No answer. Sophia closed her eyes, whispering, "Please be okay." She slid her phone into her pocket and finally walked away.
Jane was back at the hospital first thing in the morning. She carried a bag with clothes, toiletries, and a pile of textbooks—she'd decided: she could study here.
Her grandmother needed her. That's what mattered now.
Dr. Miller caught her outside the ward. "We'll keep monitoring her today, finish the last tests, and get everything ready for surgery," he said.
Jane nodded. "Next week?"
He smiled, just a little. "That's the plan."
She looked in at her grandmother through the glass. "I'm staying."
He seemed to understand. "Good."
Jane stepped into the room. Her grandmother was awake this time.
"You came back," she said.
"I told you I would," Jane replied, settling into the chair. "I brought my books."
Her grandmother sighed. "Stubborn girl."
Jane grinned. "Learned it from you."
She opened a textbook, laid her pen beside it. Then she slipped her free hand into her grandmother's again.
For now, this was her routine: bouncing between lectures and hospital hallways. Studying at her grandmother's bedside. Watching. Waiting. Being there, the way her grandmother had always been for her.
It was Jane's turn now, and she wasn't leaving.