In the private hospital suite, Mr. Nathan Harrington slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Darren sitting by the bed, keeping silent vigil.
Darren’s large, strong hand gently enveloped Nathan’s frail, bony fingers.
They were grandfather and grandson—bound by blood and by the years they’d depended on each other. Even without words, the weight of unspoken worries hung between them.
Nathan felt his heart soften. His voice was hoarse as he spoke. “Go find Charlotte. Bring her back.”
Darren’s brow furrowed sharply at the words.
“Grandpa, you just woke up. Don’t talk nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” Nathan’s breath grew shallow and rapid, the oxygen tube trembling beneath his nose. “If you don’t bring her back, Darren, I’ll die with my eyes open.”
A leaden heaviness settled over Darren’s chest, making it hard for him to breathe. He looked away from Nathan’s pressing gaze, his tone cold and detached. “If you want company, I’ll have someone bring Xena to chat with you.”
Before he could finish, Nathan’s hand shot out, knocking a hefty calendar off the nightstand. It landed hard on Darren’s shoulder with a dull thud.
“You stubborn fool! You know perfectly well that this ‘Xena’ you keep mentioning isn’t the ‘Charlotte’ I want!”
Darren’s face froze.
He stood, looking down at the elderly man in the bed. “You’re weak, Grandpa. I won’t argue with you. Please, just rest.”
“Stop right there!” Nathan’s clouded eyes were full of pain. “How long are you going to be this stubborn, Darren?”
“If you didn’t care about her, then who was it, two years ago, who clung to that urn for three days and nights, refusing to eat or drink?”
“And who kept stalling, refusing to sign the marriage papers with Xena? Who was that for?”
“Now Charlotte’s back, and you’re too proud to admit you were wrong. If you let her slip away for good, you’ll be the one left in tears!”
A flush of red rose in Darren’s eyes. His voice was tight, bitter with self-mockery. “Admit I was wrong? What did I do wrong?”


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