Chapter 4
Miranda’s POV
The moment the plane touched down JFK, my stomach twisted in knots. I hadn’t been back to New York in what felt like forever. The city’s skyline didn’t even seem real anymore, like something from a dream I’d woken up from too soon.
My phone buzzed the instant I switched it on.
“Hello, Dad?” I answered breathlessly.
“Miranda,” my father’s voice came through, calm but strained. “I’ve sent the car to pick you up. Charles is already at the terminal. Just look out for him.”
“Where are you? Are you still at the house?”
“No. We’re still at the hospital. The family hospital,” he said quietly. “We’ve been here since we brought your grandfather last night.”
Something inside me clenched.
“I’ll be there soon.”
As I stepped through the arrivals gate, I immediately spotted Charles, my dad’s long-time driver. He stood tall in a black suit, his cap tucked under his arm. The second he saw me, he waved.
“Ms. Miranda Steven,” he greeted with a respectful bow. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hi, Charles,” I said, forcing a small smile.
He opened the car door and I slid into the familiar leather seat. The scent of pine air freshener instantly transported me back to my childhood, to Sunday rides with my grandfather and dad.
The drive to the hospital felt like a blur. My thoughts raced ahead of me, spiraling into fear, guilt, and disbelief. I hadn’t seen Grandpa in over a year. We talked on the phone, sure, but I always brushed off his requests to visit.
Now here I was, because he was dying.
As we pulled into the hospital parking lot, my heart pounded like a drum. I could see my dad pacing near the entrance. He looked older, more tired than I remembered.
He turned the moment he saw me. “Miranda.”
“Dad.”
We hugged, but it was brief, fragile.
“He’s been asking for you,” he said, his voice cracking. “He barely spoke to anyone else. Just kept asking for you.”
I swallowed hard. “How… how is he?”
Dad exhaled. “He’s weak. The doctors are doing their best to manage the pain. But the diagnosis is confirmed. Cancer. And it’s aggressive.”
I looked up at the hospital. The stark white walls and glass windows suddenly felt oppressive.
“Can I see him now?” I asked.
He nodded. “He’s awake. Just… be prepared. He’s not the same man you remember.”
I followed him through the sterile halls, every step echoing in the silence. Nurses passed by with soft smiles, patients in wheelchairs lined the corridors. My chest tightened with each turn.
Finally, we stopped in front of Room 209.
Dad gave me a glance, filled with unspoken emotion. “Go in. He’s waiting.”
I nodded and pushed open the door.
The sight nearly knocked the air out of me.
Grandpa, once the strongest man I knew, former CEO of our family, the rock everyone relied on, was now frail and thin, his face sunken, eyes barely open. Tubes were attached to him, and a soft beep from the monitor kept time with his shallow breaths.
But when he saw me, something sparked in his gaze.
“Miranda,” he whispered.
“Grandpa,” I choked, rushing to his side.
He lifted a trembling hand, and I clasped it in both of mine.
“You came,” he said, smiling faintly.
“Of course I did. I’m here now.”
He studied me for a long moment. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman. Just like your mother.”
I blinked away the tears. “Don’t say that. You’ll get better. We’ll take you to the best specialists—”
He shook his head slowly. “No, Miranda. It’s my time. I’ve accepted that.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This couldn’t be happening.
“There’s something I need to ask of you,” he said.
“Anything.”
He exhaled deeply, as if gathering strength. “Before I go… I want to see you married.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I’ve made an arrangement with Luca, my old friend. His son. I want you to marry him.”
“Grandpa…”
“I know it’s sudden,” he continued, his grip tightening, “but it’s important. For the legacy. For peace. Luca and I, we dreamed of joining our families. And he… he’s a good man, Miranda. His son is too.”
“Grandpa, I don’t even know him,” I stammered.
“You’ll grow to know him. Please, sweetheart. Do this for me.”
My heart was pounding, my mind reeling. “I don’t know, grandpa.”
He coughed slightly, wincing. “I don’t have time to wait. I want to leave knowing you’ll be protected… that our name, our legacy… it’s in good hands.”
I sat there, speechless. What was I supposed to say?
As if reading my thoughts, he asked softly, “Will you do this for me, my darling Miranda?”
