Chapter 131
Robert wasn't just having physical problems—his memory was failing too.
He'd been in the hospital for a while now. Sometimes he could remember people, but more often than not, his mind was in complete confusion.
Once when I visited the hospital, Grace was holding up a family photo, trying to get him to recognize people: "Dad, this is William. He's your only son. And this is Gregory—he's your grandson, not your younger son."
Robert angrily swatted the photo aside: "Stop trying to fool me with that. What do you people want by kidnapping me? What's your purpose pretending to be my son? Once I get out of here, I'll have the police arrest every single one of you."
Grace was both anxious and angry, but still reached for a towel to wipe the drool from the corner of Robert's mouth: "Your mind is really confused. How did you suddenly stop recognizing people?"
Before she could finish, she caught sight of me standing in the doorway and waved me in.
I smiled at Robert on the hospital bed: "Mr. Lopez, how are you feeling today? Have you eaten? I brought you some oatmeal."
Robert smiled at me: "Emma's here?"
Grace sighed helplessly: "See, Dad, you're confused again. This is Emily."
"It's okay, Grace. Let him call me whatever he wants. It's just a name." I said casually to Grace, then brought out the still-steaming oatmeal. "Mr. Lopez hasn't eaten yet, right?"
Grace reached over and took the bowl from my hands: "Not yet. Dad just woke up. I'll feed him."
Suddenly Robert looked at me: "Emma, why do you look so much thinner? Are your parents not feeding you properly? Come to my house—we have lots of good food."
Grace smiled and brought the oatmeal closer: "Dad, you're not thinking straight. If Emily calls you grandpa, that would completely mess up our family's generational order."
Robert frowned: "What generational confusion? She's called me grandpa since she was little. How could I get that wrong? You're a strange woman. Are you the housekeeper my son hired? Why do you care so much!"
Grace's expression changed slightly. She put the bowl down on the table and turned with a smile: "Wait here. I'll get the caregiver to feed him. After he eats, he needs to be turned and massaged. His temper's been getting worse these past few days."
After Grace left, Robert raised his one working hand and gestured to me: "Emma, tell my son to replace her. She's too mean."
I smiled and sat down, picking up the oatmeal again: "Mr. Lopez, once you get better, no one will be mean to you."
Robert cooperated, saying repeatedly, "Right, I'll eat well and get better."
I nodded: "Yes, and once you're better, you can go home."
Robert looked at me confused: "Isn't this my home? Right, I need to go home. Emma, help me—I can't seem to move."
He tried anxiously to sit up, but half his body was numb. He could only use his one working hand to pull at the IV tube. I rushed to stop him but couldn't.
Unable to get up, Robert collapsed back down and started shouting: "I can't move? Let me go home! Let me go home!"
My eyes gradually reddened, tears pooling. I'd never seen Robert like this. He had been strong-willed his entire life. He probably never imagined he'd have such a miserable day.
Grace, the caregiver, and a nurse all rushed into the room. The nurse quickly checked his hand, which was now bleeding, and said soothingly: "Don't get upset. We're at the hospital. Once you're better, you can go home."
Grace walked to the bedside, frowned at Robert who could no longer control his emotions, seemed to smell something, then stepped back, her voice rising: "Dad, I've told you so many times—when you need the bathroom, just say something. Why can't you remember? Leo, hurry up and take care of this."
The smell in the room hit my nose. Grace covered her nose and pulled me out: "Dad's temper is so unpredictable now. Sometimes even two caregivers can't handle him. Gregory's staying overnight tonight. I really need to go home and rest."
I didn't understand why she was telling me all this. I smiled politely and looked back toward the room with concern: "Taking care of a patient requires patience and stamina. You've worked hard too."
Grace waved her hand: "As his daughter-in-law, it's what I should do. When my mother-in-law passed away, I handled everything. So before she died, she specifically had my father-in-law make a will for us in front of everyone, worried that he might get confused in his old age. See, it's coming in handy now, isn't it?"
I turned to look at her. She was smiling casually, as if just making conversation: "You should really keep that will safe."
Grace smiled: "Don't say it like that—makes it sound like we're fighting over the inheritance."
I joked: "True. Before Oscar came back, wasn't Mr. William Lopez Mr. Robert Lopez's only child?"