Marta remained speechless.
Her grandfather silently walked back to the couch, knowing he was in the middle of a potentially awkward conversation. However, without tact, he lowered the volume on the television so that he could hear them.
"I'm s-sorry," he blurted. "And I don't know anyone else down here."
Marta was like a statue, frozen in deliberation. She wanted to scowl at him, snarling his at his unwelcome presence. And she wanted to forgive him, and wrap her arms around him.
And she wanted to kill him. And that was impossible. Oh no, what if came here for me? What if he left that tramp, realizing he'd broken my heart? And then, realization struck, Did he kill himself over me?!
No greeting, just, "How did you die, Matt?"
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