Chapter 4: Grandpa’s Hustle, My Rebirth

Back at Grandpa’s, I cooked instant noodles and poached an egg for each of us.

The kitchen filled with the smell of broth and steam. We hunched over the worn Formica table, slurping noodles, the TV playing the news with fuzzy sound. There was a stack of Reader’s Digests on the coffee table, and a faded American flag hung over the porch.

We finished every bite.

I wiped the bowl clean, stomach finally warm. Grandpa nodded, satisfied.

After dinner, Grandpa went to his room.

He shuffled down the hall, humming some old tune. The floorboards creaked with every step.

I went to the other room to study.

I spread out my books, highlighters and sticky notes everywhere. The only sounds were the fridge and the distant hoot of an owl.

I worked late into the night.

Page after page, the world shrank until only my homework mattered. It felt good—like taking back control.

When I went to the kitchen for water, Grandpa’s room was still lit up.

Yellow light spilled under the door. I padded down the hall, socks silent on the floor.

Through the cracked door, I saw Grandpa at his desk, typing away on his laptop.

His glasses perched on his nose, fingers flying over the keys. A mug of black coffee steamed beside him.

I brought him some warm water.

I knocked, then nudged open the door. The room smelled like old books and peppermint.

I thought he was playing solitaire, but he was typing up a business proposal, fast as lightning.

Numbers and charts covered the screen. I caught a glimpse of the title: "Maple Heights Community Revitalization Project."

I handed him the water. “Grandpa, you’re not a kid anymore. Don’t stay up so late. Go to bed.”

He grunted, eyes barely leaving the screen. “Hey, just because I’ve got a few gray hairs doesn’t mean I’m done yet!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

The sound surprised us both. For the first time in ages, the house felt like home.

After two lives, I never knew the old man could be so lovable.

There was something fierce and protective about him—like an old oak tree still standing after every storm.

Grandpa hesitated, then asked, awkward: “Seeing what that girl eats and wears, and how they treat her—are you jealous?”

He didn’t look at me, just shuffled papers. But I heard the worry in his voice.

I shook my head.

Last time, I was jealous, but it only broke my heart.

I traced circles on my mug, remembering the nights I cried for what Aubrey had. Not anymore.

Now, I have no more expectations. With a calm heart, nothing can hurt me.

The realization made me lighter, like I could finally breathe.

Grandpa glared: “If you’re not jealous, I am! Don’t think I’m useless just because I’m old. I’ve still got it. Just watch, kiddo—I’ll make sure you live better than her!”

He thumped his chest, eyes blazing. It was silly and heartwarming at once.

I didn’t expect Grandpa to be so feisty—even jealous of that family.

His loyalty was a battered shield, but it made me want to try harder.

A wave of warmth filled me. “I’m happy now. I have food and a place to stay. Grandpa, you don’t have to be jealous. I’ll work hard, and someday I’ll make sure you live well, all on my own.”

He sniffed, pretending not to care, but his mouth twitched up.

Grandpa burst out with a line from the internet: “Alright, let’s hustle together!”

His pronunciation was all wrong, but his energy was real. I grinned, feeling the spark between us.

“Yeah, let’s hustle!”

We bumped fists, sealing the promise. It felt goofy and perfect.

That night, Grandpa and I both worked late.

The sound of keys in his room, the scratch of my pencil—music for our new life.

I thought he was bluffing, but he meant it.

The next morning, he was on the phone at sunrise, pitching his ideas. I’d never seen Grandpa so focused, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, muttering numbers like magic spells.

Soon, he found business partners and started a new company.

He held meetings at the kitchen table, coffee mugs and papers everywhere.

He stopped hoping for love from that family, and put everything into his work.

The bitterness faded. He cracked more jokes, hummed in the shower. We painted the porch, laughing when we spilled paint on the steps.

Two months later, Grandpa bought a nice car.

He showed up in a shiny red Subaru, grinning. He drove us to Dairy Queen to celebrate, bragging about me to anyone who’d listen at the diner.

Three months later, he put a down payment on a new house.

It had a big backyard, a porch swing, and granite countertops. He let me pick out the paint for my room.

And I, through hard work, made it from the regular class to the top class at Maple Heights High.

For the first time, my name was on the honor roll. I took a picture and texted it to Grandpa, who bragged to anyone who’d listen.

I never went back to see that family, but Mom called me first.

Her number lit up my phone one golden afternoon. This time, when Mom’s number lit up my phone, I didn’t flinch. I smiled, ready to hear what she’d say—and to finally say no.