I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted bl:ood.

Grandma had wet through her blanket twice that morning.

I had been awake since four.

Vanessa smelled of expensive perfume and rental-car air freshener.

“She had a hard night,” I said. “She asked for Grandpa three times. Maybe sit with her a while?”

Vanessa’s nose wrinkled.

“I just got my hair done. And honestly? She won’t remember whether I sat with her or not. That’s the upside of this whole situation.”

“Vanessa!”

“What? I’m being realistic. You should try it sometime instead of playing martyr.”

Grandma reached for me then, her frail fingers touching my wrist.

For one brief second, her eyes sharpened.

“You stay,” she whispered to me. “You always stay.”

I held her hand tightly.

Across the kitchen, Vanessa had already started counting bills into her wallet, her lips moving without sound.

“I’ll be back next month,” she announced.

“She’s your grandmother, not an ATM.”

“And you’re a saint, apparently. Congratulations.” She pulled the bag onto her shoulder. “Enjoy your soup and diapers life. Some of us are out here actually living.”

She blew a kiss near Grandma’s cheek and left before I could respond.

The door slammed behind her.

Grandma kept staring after her.

Then she looked back at me with that strange, half-lucid expression I could never fully read.

“She thinks I don’t see,” she murmured. “But I see, my good girl. I see everything.”

I smoothed her hair and told myself it was only the illness speaking.

I told myself my sacrifices did not need to be noticed, that love was supposed to be its own reward.