The police officer gave a crooked smile, looked away from my granddaughter and her desperate pleas, and stared straight at me. His voice was flat and cold, as if he were talking about something completely ordinary:

— Your exemplary granddaughter, whose innocence you are so sure of, was making money on the street by selling herself.

— Please, don’t… — my granddaughter whispered, nearly choking on her tears. — She won’t survive it. She has a weak heart.

At that moment, reality shattered. It felt like I had fallen into someone else’s nightmare. I couldn’t understand how or why she could have gone that far.

She had never dreamed of wealth, never asked for expensive things, never put money above her dignity. None of this matched the girl I knew. So there had to be another reason.

And suddenly it hit me. A cold wave washed over me. I had hidden the medical test results, doing everything I could to make sure she knew nothing about my heart.

But if she knew… then she also knew about the upcoming surgery and the amount of money we couldn’t afford. Insurance didn’t help.

I looked at my granddaughter and saw confirmation in her eyes. She had done it for me. For my chance to live.

My vision darkened. I thought it would have been easier to leave this life earlier than to let her pay such a terrible price for my salvation.