I slid them through the bedroom door. The scene inside made my stomach lurch.
The next morning, when I woke up, the bedroom was already empty. Only the lingering scent of intimacy still hung in the master suite, refusing to fade.
The hospital sent a message. My grandfather had died. Resuscitation had failed.
I rushed to the hospital and immediately pulled the security footage.
In the video, Zoe Winfield looked nothing like the gentle woman she pretended to be. She was arrogant, vicious, ripping the oxygen tube from my grandfather's face.
Her voice dripped with contempt.
"Do you know what your granddaughter is doing right now?"
"Out there selling herself for a dollar a night to pay your medical bills. And you have the nerve to stay in a room this nice."
My grandfather had been tormented to death. Right there on camera.
My fists clenched so hard my nails broke the skin. Tears hit the floor one by one.
I had been too naive back then, too foolish to understand what it meant to love someone from a different world. I had thrown myself into loving him year after year, blind and reckless, until there was nothing left of me but wounds.