Chapter 287: Passing Away
"Walter wouldn't do something like that," Frank shook his head. He felt Peggy was being a bit too alarmist.
If things were really as she described, what kind of person would that make Walter?
Someone who eliminated anyone who posed a threat to him—that was terrifying.
Frank simply couldn't believe Walter would ever become that kind of man.
"Never think too well of people," Peggy said, fixing Frank with a deep, penetrating look.
In his previous life, Frank had lived in a society governed by the rule of law. He'd been an ordinary, law-abiding citizen. His biggest worries had been office politics—interpersonal tensions, petty scheming among coworkers.
This life's "Frank," though he lived at the very bottom of American society and had seen plenty of ugliness, spent most of his days in a drunken haze. His main concern was always alcohol. When he ran out of money to drink, he'd think about how to get more—just so he could keep drinking.
But Peggy was different.
She was nearly eighty years old and had spent her entire life at society's lowest rung. She had lived through too many unspeakable things, witnessed too many changes in people and in the world.
She knew better than anyone: people change.
That was why she warned Frank. These weren't wild guesses—this was hard-earned experience.
Never think too well of people.
Always consider the worst possible outcome.
"Mom, you should get some rest," Frank said gently, trying to soothe her.
Deep down, Frank still felt she was overthinking it.
The reason she saw Walter that way was because she didn't know one crucial thing—Walter had cancer too. He didn't have much time left either.
"Frank," Peggy said from the darkness just as he turned off the light and prepared to leave,
"I was a terrible parent. Don't be like me. Be a good father. Don't let your family down."
"Family is everything."
"I know," Frank replied softly, closing the door behind him.
The room fell silent.
Moonlight slanted through the window, spilling softly into the room. By its pale glow, Peggy reached into her clothes and took out a small pouch.
Click.
The sound of a lighter echoed quietly in the darkness.
---
"!!"
At dawn, when Frank went to wake her, he found that Peggy's body was already cold.
She had fulfilled her final wish—just as she'd planned—and ended her life in her own way.
Frank's gaze grew complicated.
He'd known this day would come. He'd even been prepared for it.
But when it actually happened—when she was truly gone—he still found it hard to accept.
His emotions were a tangled mess.
There was relief, even a strange sense of release and excitement—feelings that belonged to the original "Frank." In those memories, he'd cursed Peggy countless times, wished for her death, even fantasized about killing her himself while she slept.
Yet mixed in with that was something else: loss, sorrow, a dull ache in his chest.
Frank didn't know whether those feelings belonged to him—or to the man whose life he now lived.
"…Sigh."
He steadied himself, let out a heavy breath, and began handling Peggy's body.
"Grandma… is dead?"
When the hospital staff arrived to collect the body, Pinkman came rushing out of the neighboring room, clothes disheveled. He covered his mouth in disbelief.
"Yeah," Frank said calmly.
"She already wanted to end it back in Chicago. Now she's gotten what she wanted. No regrets."
"What about Sammi and Fiona?" Pinkman asked after a moment, forcing himself to calm down.
"Not yet," Frank shook his head. "I'll take her body back first, then we'll tell them."
"Sorry for your loss."
Walter rushed over the moment he heard the news.
Not just Walter—Skyler, heavily pregnant, came with Junior. Even Marie showed up.
They'd all rushed to the hospital after hearing that Frank's mother had passed away.
"Frank…"
Marie grabbed his arm, worry written all over her face.
Hank was working in Texas and couldn't make it back in time, so Marie had come alone.
"Thank you," Frank said to everyone, gently withdrawing his arm without drawing attention.
Marie quickly realized Skyler and Walter were nearby—and noticed the strange look Skyler was giving her. She immediately stepped back and put some distance between herself and Frank.
After everyone left, only Frank and Walter remained—the two of them alone.
"What are you going to do with the body?" Walter asked.
"Take her back," Frank replied.
"Let the kids see their grandma one last time."
Then Frank asked quietly, "How's your condition?"
"I had another checkup recently—right before you came back," Walter said with a bitter smile.
"It wasn't good. The cancer's spread again. Treatment isn't working. I'm… almost out of time."
"How long did the doctors give you?" Frank asked.
"A few weeks, maybe," Walter said. "They're not sure. But it won't be long."
"Sorry," Frank said, raising his bottle and clinking it lightly against Walter's.
"There's nothing to mourn," Walter shook his head.
"My wish has already been fulfilled. I've made enough money to leave my family. I'm really grateful to you, Frank."
"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made anywhere near this much before I died. I might not have even afforded treatment."
He took a long drink.
The endless tests alone had already drained Walter's family savings. The specialized cancer institute had been paid for on credit cards. Actual treatment would have required loans—maybe even borrowing from others.
That was why Walter had resisted treatment in the first place.
And now, reality had followed the worst possible path: loans taken, treatment endured—and no results. Only crushing debt left behind.
If things had gone "normally," Skyler would have been left alone after his death—burdened with debt, caring for a disabled son and a newborn daughter.
Unless she found someone willing to shoulder that burden with her, life would have been unbearable.
But thanks to Frank—thanks to their partnership—Walter had proven his worth before dying. He'd burned bright one last time and earned enough to secure his family's future, including his children's education.
Like Peggy, Walter no longer needed condolences.
He'd completed his final wish.
Thinking of all this, Walter felt nothing but gratitude toward Frank.
"The Blue Angel formula—Pinkman's memorized all of it," Walter said quietly, as if arranging his affairs.
"The quantities, temperatures, timing—and all the mistakes he tends to make. I had him write everything down."
"After I'm gone, he'll still be able to keep production going."
Walter's initial prognosis suggested he might not even make it another month.
This time, when Frank came back, Walter had wanted to sit down and really talk things through.
But then Peggy happened.
Frank would be taking her body back to Chicago—and likely staying there for a while.
By the time Frank returned… Walter might already be gone.
That was why some things had to be said now.