Chapter 1

The air in my car was thick with the smell of cheap pine air freshener and old coffee. I drove through the forgotten part of our rust-belt town, where cracked pavement and boarded-up storefronts were the norm. It was Thanksgiving week. My phone had been buzzing all morning with excuses from my family.

My father, Anthony, said he was "swamped" helping my mom, Jennifer, with the turkey, even though I knew he was just on the couch watching TV.

My uncle, Scott, a car salesman who couldn't sell a car, claimed he had a "hot lead" he couldn't miss.

My aunt, Sylvia, was already on her way to a theme park in Florida with her family, complaining in the group chat about how they "desperately needed a break."

They all had reasons not to visit Grandpa Rufus. They saw him and his rundown house as a downer, a stain on their perfect holiday plans. So, I was the one making the drive, just like every other week.

I pulled up to his house. It sagged, the paint peeling off like sunburnt skin. The yard was a mess of weeds. I had saved up from my barista job to fix his leaky roof last summer, but the rest of the place was falling apart.

I used my key to let myself in. The house was cold, a damp chill that went straight to my bones.

"Grandpa?" I called out.

He was in his worn-out armchair, a thin blanket pulled up to his chin. He looked smaller than I remembered from last week, his face pale and his breathing shallow. An empty can of chicken noodle soup sat on the small table next to him. That was all he' d been eating. Canned soup.

My heart ached. This man worked his whole life in the steel mill, a proud Vietnam vet, and this is what his family left him with.

"Molly," he rasped, a weak smile touching his lips. "You came."

"Of course, I came, Grandpa. I brought you some real food."

I set down the grocery bags filled with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and some vegetables. I started unpacking them in his dusty kitchen, my anger at my family a hard knot in my stomach. They were all planning their feasts while their father was wasting away, alone and cold.