My grandpa saw me going in and out of a shelter and shouted, but
The Shocking Encounter at the Shelter
“Kelly, don’t tell me. What are you doing here?”
The voice cut sharply through the taut air of a winter morning.
I stopped in my tracks for just a second and instinctively straightened my back.
I felt embarrassed at the thought of being seen in such shabby clothes, but I refused to lower my head and hide my face.
My pride wouldn’t allow it.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze and looked straight at the owner of the voice.
Standing there was my grandfather, Frank.
Behind him was a black luxury sedan, and the sight of my grandfather in his perfectly tailored coat formed a cruel contrast with the grimy concrete building behind me.
At the entrance hung a sign that read “St. Mary’s transitional housing for students.”
Yes, my billionaire grandfather had just seen me walking out of transitional housing for homeless students.
“Grandpa.”
My voice was slightly hoarse from the cold, dry early morning air, but it came out clearly enough.
“It’s been a while.”
Suppressing my agitation, I forced myself to greet him calmly.
He stared at me from head to toe as if he were seeing something unbelievable.
Worn-out jeans, a cheap hoodie layered for warmth, and in my hand a sports bag containing everything I owned.
“Why are you coming out of a place like this? Kelly, answer me!”
His voice was trembling, not with anger but with deep shock and fear at the reality that his beloved granddaughter was living in student transitional housing.
“There are reasons, but I’m fine. I’m still going to school and I’m managing somehow.”
“Fine? There’s no way this is fine!”
He raised his voice and passers-by turned around in surprise.
Striding toward me, he grabbed my now-thin arm tightly.
“What happened to the house? The house I gave you!”
I frowned at the words that burst from his mouth.
The house? I didn’t understand what he meant.
“What are you talking about? What house?”
“The house I gave you six months ago for your 20th birthday. A furnished three-bedroom house in the Riverside District. Why aren’t you living there?”
His eyes were bloodshot, his expression desperate.
I was confused.
A house in the Riverside District? I had never even seen a home in such an upscale neighborhood.
“Grandpa, calm down. I never received anything like that.”
“The only thing I got for my birthday was a card from Mom. Dad and the others said you were busy traveling overseas and that there wouldn’t be a present this year.”
“What did you say?”
His movements froze.
I could feel his agitation rapidly harden into something cold and sharp.
It was a face I knew well: the face of Frank the Iron Man, who had once been feared in the business world.
“You heard nothing? No keys, no deed? Not once, even when I was practically thrown out of the house?”
No one ever mentioned anything like that.
Slowly, he released my arm and clenched his back teeth as if swallowing something bitter.
In the depths of his eyes, flames of rage burned fiercely.
“I see. Grace and David.”
He muttered the names in a low, growling voice.
“Get in the car, Kelly. We need to talk.”
“But I have hospital training this morning.”
“I’ll take you. Before that, you need a proper meal and an explanation.”
There was no room for refusal in his tone.
I let out a quiet sigh and nodded.
There was no point in putting on a brave front.
And somehow, I felt that the mystery of this missing house held the key to what had derailed my life.
As I climbed into the warm car, the softness of the seat—something I hadn’t felt in a long time—nearly snapped the tightly wound thread of tension inside me.
“Tell me everything. How you’ve been living these past few months and what happened to that house.”
Still staring out the window, I opened my mouth quietly.
“It’s a long story, but if you’re willing to listen…”
A Life of Exhaustion and Exploitation
And so I began to speak.
Sleep was a luxury for me.
At the time, my average sleep was three and a half hours a night.
If I managed four hours, it felt like a miracle, a holiday.
Every morning, I woke up from sheer tension before my 4:00 a.m. alarm ever rang.
I’d splash my face with cold water and look at the dark circles reflected in the mirror, whispering to myself, “Just a little longer, just two more years.”
Along with my nursing studies and clinical training, I was working two part-time jobs.
From early morning until mid-afternoon, I endured grueling clinical rotations at the university hospital.
In a constant state of tension, I ran around checking patients’ vital signs, assisting with hygiene care, and writing reports until my legs felt like they might give out.
In the evening, I worked as a waitress at a diner near campus.
And from midnight, after the diner closed, I cleaned office floors for a 24-hour cleaning company.
That was also my study time.
In empty, silent office buildings, I pushed a mop while reciting anatomy and physiology terms under my breath.
During my 15-minute breaks, I desperately scanned a vocabulary notebook pulled from my pocket.
“Kelly, you look awful again. Why don’t you take a little time off?”
The diner manager said it out of concern, but all I could do was shake my head.
“I’m fine. I have to earn my rent and pay for my textbooks.”
That was the truth.
I had nowhere I could rely on.
The only saving grace was that my grandfather, Frank, paid my university tuition directly.
“It’s worth investing in anyone who truly wants to learn.”
That was his policy.
If it weren’t for him, I would have dropped out of college long ago.
When I dragged myself back to my parents’ house after 2:00 a.m., exhausted beyond words, the living room lights were always blazing.
The TV blared loudly, mixed with bursts of laughter.
There, sprawled across the sofa, were my unemployed sister, Ashley, and her husband, Chris, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and beer cans.
“Oh, you’re home, Kelly. You’re late.”
Ashley said it without taking her eyes off the TV.
“Hey, could you run to the store and get some ice cream? Vanilla.”
“I just got back. Go yourself.”
“Huh? We’re tired.”
Tired from lying around the house all day?
My parents were even worse.
