The hospital smelled like antiseptic and rain-soaked coats.
"He is stable for now," the doctor told me outside the ICU. "We are waiting on the next set of results. Stay close."
Through the glass, Grandpa looked smaller than he ever had, swallowed by white sheets and machines.
My parents died in a car accident when I was very young. Grandpa raised me with his rough, callused hands.
Anything other children had, he tried to give me. He only ate stale bread, but would travel across town on my birthday to buy my favorite little pastries from the bakery I liked. During summer blackouts, he sat by my bed all night waving a paper fan so I could sleep, while sweat ran down his own face.
When I got into a good university, he was happier than I was. He went around the whole building telling neighbors, "My Elara is going places."
But he got old. Too old, too fast. After the diagnosis, he often held my hand and said, "Elara, I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of leaving you alone in this world with no one to care whether you are cold or hungry."
That was why I had been so desperate to marry Grant.
I wanted to bring him to Grandpa and say, "You can rest now. I will be all right."
And Grant?
Grant was the man who had helped me contact top specialists after Grandpa got sick. The man who wiped my tears and said, "Do not be afraid. I am here. I will arrange everything."
That same man had handed me a fake marriage certificate without blinking.
He would not even help me satisfy my grandfather's last wish.
Remembering the scene at the City Clerk's office, I opened the pinned chat at the top of my messages, sent one line, and put my phone away.
When I went downstairs, I saw several of Grant's friends gathered near the hospital entrance.
They did not notice me at first.
"Grant went too far," one of them said. "Nora even twisted her ankle."
"They just got married. Emotions run high."
"Still, I cannot believe he actually honored the bet and married Nora right in front of Elara."
"Honestly? Elara is the reason he dares to do it. She is so whipped. He can do anything, and she will forgive him."
The speaker turned and met my eyes.
He choked on the last word. "S-sister-in-law? What are you doing here?"
Another man straightened immediately. "Elara, we were kidding. Do not take it seriously."
But not all jokes are lies.
In my relationship with Grant, I had always been the one reaching.
If he casually mentioned a restaurant, I waited in line for three hours to buy him takeout. If he worked late, I cooked soup and drove across the city. If he forgot our anniversary, I smiled and said work mattered more. I sorted his clothes by season. I memorized his tastes, habits, and every impatient expression, terrified that one small mistake would make him tired of me.
I used to think love did not need a ledger. I loved him. He loved me. That was enough.
I never imagined my love would become the knife he used to cut me.
After a long silence, Luke Barnes, the friend who knew me best, spoke again.
"Elara, why are you here?"
I steadied myself and smiled.
"I came to pick up my husband."
For a moment, all of them froze. They assumed I meant Grant.
Their faces were almost funny.
"Elara, Grant is still busy," one of them said quickly. "Nora's ankle is actually pretty bad."
"I know it looks awful, but it was just a bet. They are not really like that."
"Yeah. If Grant did not love you, he would not have stayed with you for six years."
He stopped halfway when Luke elbowed him hard.
"That is not what he meant," Luke said.
I said nothing.
Before today, I had refused to believe Grant would cross that line. He and Nora had grown up together. They were close, yes, but I told myself it was like the way he was close to his male friends. Even when his concern went too far, I lied to myself and called it friendship.
Now he had signed a marriage certificate with her.
If I still pretended there was nothing between them, I would be a fool.
But I truly did not care anymore.
From this moment forward, Grant Hale had nothing to do with me.
