The cry tore from her throat, raw and broken.
She fell to her knees beside the bed, clutching the cold hand that no longer responded. Tears streamed freely now, dripping onto the white sheets.
"You promised you'd wait for me," she sobbed. "I was only gone for a few hours. I was working for you. I was trying to get money for your medicine…"
Her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
"Why didn't you wait?"
Her voice cracked into fragments.
"Grandma… you said you didn't need the medicine," Lin Che sobbed, her voice breaking so violently it hardly sounded human anymore. "You said you were fine… but I was going to buy it anyway. I was going to make you better. I was going to make you better…"
Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around her grandmother's cold hand. The warmth that had always comforted her was gone. No matter how tightly she held it, no matter how desperately she rubbed her thumb over the wrinkled skin, it did not respond. The stillness was unbearable.
"I was going to work harder," she choked out, tears pouring down her face and dripping onto the white sheets. "I didn't care how tired I was. I didn't care how hard it was. I was going to earn enough money. You were going to take the good medicine. You were going to get better…"
Her shoulders shook violently. She bent forward, pressing her forehead against the back of her grandmother's hand as if she could warm it with her own body heat.
"But you didn't even wait for me," she cried. "Grandma, how could you not wait for me? I told you to wait. I told you I would come back soon."
Her other hand rose to cup her grandmother's face. The skin was cold and stiff beneath her palm. She wiped away her tears clumsily, though they would not stop falling.
"If you leave… I will have nobody else," she whispered hoarsely. "Grandma, please. Please don't leave me. I can't do this by myself. I can't… I don't know how to live if you're not here."
Her voice cracked into broken fragments as she continued to plead, as though her words could reach wherever her grandmother had gone.
"Don't go… please don't go. Don't leave me alone. I'll listen to you. I won't argue. I'll eat properly. I won't make you worry anymore. I'll stay by your side every day. Just don't leave me…"
Her cries grew louder, more desperate, echoing against the cold tiled walls of the small room. The nurse standing outside had to turn away, unable to bear the sound.
And then, without warning, a memory surged forward.
She was five years old again.
Her legs were short and clumsy, her world small and fragile. She had been plagued by nightmares during that period—dark shadows with long claws chasing her through endless corridors. That particular morning, she had woken up drenched in sweat, convinced that if her grandmother stepped outside, the monsters from her dreams would come and swallow her whole.
She remembered standing at the doorway of their small house, watching her grandmother prepare to leave for work. The fear had swelled inside her chest until she could not breathe.
Then her tiny legs had carried her forward.
She had run across the yard and grabbed her grandmother's hand with both of her small fists, tears streaming down her childish face.
"Grandma, please don't leave. Please don't leave."
Her grandmother had paused, surprised, before bending down with a gentle smile. Those familiar, warm fingers had smoothed her messy hair.
"I'm only leaving for a little while," her grandmother had said softly. "Wait for me at home, and I'll bring you your favorite snack."
Those words had been magic. The monsters had vanished. The fear had melted away. She had stood there, sniffling but reassured, watching her grandmother walk down the path with complete trust that she would return.
But now—
"Please don't leave," Lin Che sobbed again in the present, her voice breaking apart. "Grandma, I'm still waiting. I'm still waiting for you."
There was no gentle hand smoothing her hair this time. No reassuring smile. No promise of snacks. The person who had always returned was now lying silent beneath white sheets, beyond reach.
Her cries became raw and hoarse, her body shaking uncontrollably. She clung to the cold hand as if she could anchor her grandmother's soul back into it.
Outside in the hallway, the villagers had gathered. The air was heavy with grief. Some stood with their heads bowed; others wiped their eyes openly. Auntie Lee covered her mouth with her hand, tears slipping down her cheeks as she listened to Lin Che's broken voice calling out again and again.
Even the men who rarely showed emotion cleared their throats and turned away, their eyes reddened.
The entire corridor felt submerged in sorrow.
After what felt like hours, Lin Che's cries weakened into exhausted sobs. Her voice had grown hoarse. Her tears had slowed, though they continued to fall silently.
When she finally stepped out of the room, she looked like someone who had aged years in a single afternoon.
Later, she sat motionless on a bench outside the hospital. The tear streaks on her cheeks had dried into faint lines. Her eyes were hollow and unfocused as she stared down at her hands.
Those hands had held her grandmother only hours ago. Those hands had tried to warm cold fingers that would never move again.
She turned her palms slowly, as if expecting to see something different. As if expecting to wake up from a nightmare.
Nan Lu approached quietly and sat beside her. For once, the usually talkative girl had no lively words to offer.
"The villagers are arranging the funeral matters," Nan Lu said softly. "You don't need to worry about anything. They're handling it."
Lin Che did not respond.
Nan Lu swallowed, her heart aching at the sight of her friend's empty gaze. "We should go home for a while," she added gently. "You need to rest."
At the word home, Lin Che finally moved.
She turned her head slowly toward Nan Lu. Her voice, when she spoke, was eerily calm.
"If I go back… she won't be there."