When I saw the cruel message scrawled on my recovering grandpa’s dusty car, I was livid. But uncovering the culprit’s identity was just the beginning. What I did next would teach this entitled neighbor a lesson she’d never forget. Two months ago, I was at work when my phone rang. It was Mom. “Meg, it’s Grandpa,” she barely managed to speak. “He’s in the hospital. He—” “What? Hospital?” I cut her off, totally blindsided. “What happened?” “He had a heart attack,” Mom continued in her shaky voice. “We gotta go see him.” “Oh my God, Mom, is he okay?”“I don’t know, Meg…”“

I’ll be there as fast as I can, Mom,” I replied as I quickly logged out of my work email.

The thing is, Grandpa Alvin is my rock, my confidant, and my favorite person in the world. It won’t be wrong to say that I love him more than Mom. Shh! It’s a secret! And that phone call from Mom had turned my world upside down. I could literally feel a knot in my stomach as I rushed out of my office after informing my boss about Grandpa’s condition. The drive from my workplace to home is a blur. I don’t remember how I got there, but I quickly picked up Mom before we rushed to the hospital. The drive from our house to the hospital was about 45 minutes long. And let me tell you, those were the longest, most painful 45 minutes of my life.