Loss

The next morning was unnervingly quiet. The kind of quiet that made Felix's skin crawl.

The house was still, the usual sounds of his mother yelling or the television blaring absent. His father wasn't stomping through the kitchen, and his sister wasn't lingering in the hallway like a vulture.

Felix dressed quickly, keeping his steps light as he moved downstairs. His goal was to grab his bag and leave before anyone noticed he was awake.

But as he reached the base of the stairs, he froze.

His grandfather's chair was empty.

For a moment, panic seized him. His grandfather was always there in the mornings, sitting at the kitchen table with his newspaper, a steaming cup of tea by his side. It was a ritual Felix had grown up with, a rare constant in his chaotic life.

"Grandpa?" Felix's voice was tentative, shaky.

No response.

He stepped into the kitchen, the faint scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke making his stomach churn. The table was cluttered, but there was no sign of his grandfather's newspaper or tea.

"Grandpa?" he called again, louder this time.

A low groan came from the living room. Felix turned, his heart pounding as he followed the sound.

There, lying crumpled on the floor near the old armchair, was his grandfather.

"Grandpa!" Felix dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached out to shake the frail shoulder. The skin was cool to the touch. Too cool.

"No, no, no…" Felix whispered, his voice cracking. His hands moved frantically, shaking the man's shoulder harder, pressing against his chest. His fingers searched for a pulse, for anything—but there was nothing.

He couldn't breathe. His chest felt like it was caving in, his vision tunneling as he stared at the lifeless form in front of him.

"Help!" he screamed, his voice breaking. "Somebody help!"

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling toward the hallway. "Mom! Dad! He's—he's not breathing! Please—"

The words caught in his throat as he rounded the corner and saw his mother leaning against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She glanced at him with dull, bloodshot eyes.

"Keep it down," she muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke.

Felix stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "He's—he's dead! Grandpa's—"

"So what?" she interrupted, her voice flat. "Old bastard had it coming."

Felix froze, his blood turning to ice.

"You don't mean that," he whispered, his voice trembling.

She rolled her eyes, taking another drag of her cigarette. "He was a burden. We all knew it. You should be glad you don't have to take care of him anymore."

The world tilted beneath Felix's feet.

He turned toward the kitchen, shouting for his father this time. "Dad! Please, you have to—"

"Shut up!" came the gruff reply from the garage. "Not my problem, kid!"

Felix stumbled back into the living room, his knees hitting the floor as he cradled his grandfather's hand in his own. His fingers were trembling, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

"No, no, no…" he muttered, rocking back and forth.

The weight of the moment was suffocating. The man who had been his anchor, his only source of kindness and stability, was gone. And no one else in the house cared.

The realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

He was alone.

Truly, completely alone.

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his forehead against his grandfather's hand. He stayed there for what felt like hours, the house around him a blur.

Eventually, his legs gave out, and he sat slumped on the floor, his hands limp in his lap. His gaze fell to the chessboard on the shelf—the one he and his grandfather had used countless times.

It was dust-covered, forgotten by everyone but Felix.

His chest tightened as he forced himself to his feet and walked toward it. He lifted the board with shaking hands, cradling it like it was made of glass. The faint scent of his grandfather's cologne lingered on the wood.

Felix wiped his face, his jaw tightening as he placed the chessboard into his bag.

This wasn't the time to cry.

This was the time to leave.