When Josie walks into the room for the first time, baby carrier strapped to her chest, Justice glued to Raff’s side, I completely lose it. She wraps me up carefully, mindful of the baby, and I sob into her shoulder like I’m eight years old again.
“I’m here,” she murmurs. “We’re all here. Not just for Papa, for you too.”
Raff brings coffee. Justice brings drawings. Journey sleeps through it all, blissfully unaware of how much her tiny presence steadies me.
And Miles—he stands back at first, giving me space, his presence solid and quiet. When he finally steps forward, he doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. Unable to deny the pull, I walk straight into them. He holds me like he’s not afraid of breaking me. Like he understands that his quiet strength soothes the fragility inside me.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers into my hair.
For the first time since the ambulance ride, I believe it. The days stretch on, long and exhausting. We rotate shifts so I can go home and shower, eat something that isn’t from a vending machine, sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time.
Having them here changes everything.
Raff handles logistics without being asked making sure the kids are cared for without feeling too much shift in their routines being away from home. Josie keeps me fed and grounded, reminding me gently when I need to sit down. Justice brings his loud, earnest energy into the hospital room, telling a sleeping grandpa about school and his baby sister like it’s the most important thing in the world. He lightens up all of our days with every visit. I’m sure Papa will eat this up when he’s awake and more alert again.
Miles stays with me at night. Not always in the hospital room—sometimes just sitting in the waiting area, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing because I need to breath air not stifled by the weight of watching my grandfather seem so frail. Sometimes we sat with him holding my hand when the fear creeps in during the quiet hours.
By day five, Papa is bouncing back. When he wakes up for the morning he seems aware and with us. His eyes find me immediately. “There you are,” he says, voice raspy but clear.
Relief hits me so hard my knees go weak. “I’m here,” I say, laughing and crying at the same time. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
He studies my face, then glances around the room, confusion flickering briefly before settling. “Did I miss my birthday?” he asks confusion in his gaze.
Josie steps forward first, smiling warmly. “Hey Papa. It’s Josie. Been too long since I’ve been home. Missed you, Papa.”
He squints at her, then nods like his brain is catching up. Recognition comes through and he smiles showing off the few teeth he has left. “Pretty baby. Looks like your Nanny.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes shining. Raff introduces himself next, steady and respectful. Justice climbs onto the bed carefully, chattering about his sister until Grandpa chuckles weakly.
Then it’s Miles’s turn. I hesitate for half a heartbeat before taking his hand and leading him forward. “And this is Miles,” I say softly.
Grandpa looks at him for a long moment. Longer than is comfortable. His gaze sharpens in a way I haven’t seen in years.
“Well,” he says finally. “You don’t look like trouble.”
Miles smiles faintly. “I try not to be, sir.” I stifle back the laugh inside watching this badass biker make sure and be polite to my southern rooted grandfather.
Grandpa huffs. Then he looks at me.
And smiles. A real smile. Full and peaceful.
“I can die in peace now,” he whispers calmly to know one in particular, “knowing someone will take care of my girls.”
My breath catches painfully in my chest. “Papa,” I gasp feeling the weight of his words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“I’m not dying today,” he adds, waving a hand weakly. “Don’t get dramatic.”
Everyone laughs, tension breaking like a snapped string. But later, when it’s just the two of us, his hand curled around mine, his voice soft and lucid, he says it again, but differently. “I worried about you,” he admits. “About what would happen when I’m gone.”
My throat tightens. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He squeezes my fingers. “I know. But someday. Danae, we all gotta a day we leave this world. And I needed to know you’d be okay.”
I swallow hard. “I’m okay, Papa. I have you.”
“I see that, but I’m an old man,” he states. “You gotta build something. For yourself. That man, I can see it.”
Tears slide down my cheeks unchecked. “I didn’t plan it.”
