Third Person's POV
"Nothing really, just curious," Patricia sighed. "To be honest, I admire you both. If that happened to me, I might not be as poised as you are."
Abigail grew even more embarrassed.
"How about Leo and Sunny?" Patricia changed the subject. "Haven't you called to check in?"
"No, Leo's not one for sharing personal stuff," Abigail said with a light laugh.
Patricia frowned, then leaned in suddenly. "You've met Olivia, right? Don't you think Sunny resembles her a bit?"
Abigail stiffened, recalling the resemblance but not daring to dwell on it—could the world really be that coincidental?
"Probably no connection," she said with a frown.
"True, there are plenty of people with the same surname," Patricia agreed, though she noticed the flicker of doubt in Abigail's eyes.
Two children bounced into the room, Hedwig holding up a pale purple flower. "Granny, look at the flower Noah put on me. Isn't it pretty?"
Patricia smiled. "It's beautiful, just like you, Hedwig."
Noah folded his arms, feigning disgust. "She just said she wanted to be a bride and made me play the groom. So stupid!"
Hedwig glared at him. "I'll find a groom handsomer than you when I grow up!"
Leo visited Emerson again, who was happy to see him. The old man tried to appear lively, but his withered fingers and blurring vision betrayed his approaching end.
Emerson was at peace, having witnessed his family gradually reunite.
He dozed off mid-conversation.
Leo sat by the bed, holding Emerson's hand to his forehead, reflecting on his reckless past—only now could he describe his younger self as a "jerk."
Family had always been his anchor, the harbor he could always return to.
How he wished he could turn back time and be the good boy in his grandfather's eyes.
"Leo!" Patricia's voice came from behind.
Leo gently laid Emerson's hand down and quickly wiped a tear as he stood.
Patricia noticed and smiled gently. "Come on, big tough guy, no need for tears."
Leo was nonplussed by her words—his grandfather was on his deathbed, what was wrong with crying?
"Granny, he's asleep," Leo said softly, looking at the serene old man.
"I know, he's always dozing these days," Patricia said with a tinge of sadness. "Let's give him some rest."
Not wanting to burden her grandson, Patricia guided him out, knowing he had to learn to face the harsh reality of life and death.
Leo followed her downstairs, glancing back at his grandmother tucking the blanket around his grandfather. A fleeting dizziness overtook him: Would someone still care for him so tenderly when he was eighty?
He instinctively thought of Sunny, oddly certain she would be the one to care for him.
"Daydreaming? Let's go," Patricia urged gently.
Leo nodded, and they walked downstairs together.
"Granny, I want to propose to Sunny. Is that okay with you?" Leo blurted out.
Patricia's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Not just saying that to make an old woman happy?"
"It's true. I'm ready to settle down," Leo said, thinking now that Olivia's issue was resolved and his and Sunny's past was behind them, nothing would stand in their way.
"You're turning twenty-five soon, aren't you?" Patricia mused.
"Yes, after my birthday," Leo smiled.
"Alright then. Though twenty-five is still a bit young, if Sunny's willing, go for it," Patricia said with a teasing tone.
Leo's face froze in mock offense. "I'm totally mature!"
"Hmm, your body's grown up, but your mind? Not so much," Patricia retorted mercilessly. "A mature man doesn't play games with love, understand? Even the warmest heart can't withstand constant turmoil. Don't overestimate your charm or underestimate Sunny's loyalty. A good woman might come once in a lifetime. Miss her, and it's a lifetime of regret."
Leo, struck by his grandmother's words, had to concede. "Granny, you should've been a romance novelist. Publish a book now, and I'll be your first reader."
Patricia shot him a look. "Less of that sass, young man! You're getting more disrespectful by the day!"
"Sorry," Leo muttered, then bounded downstairs.
Patricia watched his retreating figure and sighed. "Take a leaf from Blake's book with Catherine."
"I'm not him," Leo grumbled as he descended, then suddenly clapped a hand over his ear. "Who's playing such awful music?"
He headed toward the small living room, where Hedwig was perched at the piano, her tiny hands haphazardly pressing keys, with Abigail patiently correcting her.
"Uncle Leo's here!" Hedwig stopped playing and, noticing his covered ear, asked worriedly, "Is your ear hurt?"
Leo chuckled at her innocence. "More like tortured by 'demonic sounds.'"
"What's 'demonic sounds'? Granny, what's Uncle Leo talking about?" Hedwig's big eyes widened in curiosity.
Abigail shot her son a look. "Don't be rude. Hedwig's just young. She'll improve with practice."
Hedwig finally understood and huffed, hands on her hips. "So Uncle Leo thinks my playing is awful?"