When my grandma got sick, I was the one who showed up for chemo rides, meds, and nights on her couch. My sisters showed up for photos. After the will, they left smiling, and I went home with her old dog, until he started acting like he had something to tell me.I was 28 when my grandma got sick, and my life snapped into a new shape.I drove her to chemo, sorted her meds, stocked her fridge, and slept on her couch when the nights got long.Her dog, Scout, stayed glued to her like a shadowHe was old and stubborn, with a graying muzzle, and a wheezy sigh that always sounded offended.My sisters stayed “busy.”Maris texted “Thinking of you,” and Kaia reacted with heart emojis like that counted as help.

Every couple of weeks they showed up with grocery-store flowers, took a sad selfie, and disappeared again.One night after chemo, Grandma June’s hands shook so hard she spilled tea on the blanket.I dabbed at it with a paper towel, trying not to look scared.Scout pressed his head into her lap and stared at me like I was responsible for fixing the world.Grandma squeezed my hand. “Blythe,” she said, “they’re going to come running when I’m gone.””Grandma, don’t,” I whispered.Her eyes held mine, calm and sharp. “Promise me one thing. If it turns into a circus… you take Scout.” swallowed. “Why would it turn into a circus?””Because they’ll smell money,” she said, voice flat. “And they’ll forget I was a person.”Scout’s ears twitched at his name.