My parents died when I was young. She raised me alone, collecting recyclables to keep us fed and clothed.
Years later, when Phil's startup nearly went under because his funding chain collapsed, it was Grandma who handed over her life savings to pull him through.
And now the man she'd loved like her own grandson had pushed her to the brink of death.
The cab screeched to a halt outside City Central Hospital.
I sprinted toward the emergency building.
The red light above the resuscitation room was still on. I pressed my back against the cold wall and prayed in silence, begging whatever force would listen to let her be okay.
More than ten minutes crawled by before a rush of footsteps echoed down the corridor.
I lifted my head slowly.
Phil and Clarissa were hurrying toward me.
Phil's chest heaved with each breath, his face flushed from running. He looked like he'd sprinted the whole way.
He stopped in front of me and pulled a bank card from his pocket, holding it out.
"Clarissa told me everything. She didn't do it on purpose. She just forgot to set the privacy filter when she posted."