That day, Grandpa turned 80 years old.
He insisted on inviting the whole family to a restaurant:
— You don’t turn this age every day, — Grandpa smiled, putting on his favorite blazer and carefully combing his gray hair. He took his old leather briefcase with a metal clasp that clicked loudly when closed.
We gathered as a big family: my parents, Aunt Mary and Uncle John, my younger brother Alex, and me — Emma. Grandpa had reserved a table in a cozy restaurant with dim lighting and classical music playing softly in the background.
He ordered a lot. Too much. Steaks, seafood, wine, desserts.
I tried to gently hint:
— Maybe we shouldn’t go overboard like this?
Mom shrugged:
— Let him enjoy it. He’ll be eating oatmeal for a week after this anyway.
I noticed how Grandpa occasionally pressed his lips together, glancing at the menu and mentally calculating something. But he never said a word out loud. Just:
— The most important thing is that you’re happy.
When the waiter brought the bill, silence fell.
Grandpa put on his glasses, reached for his wallet — and suddenly Mom stood up:
— Dad, we really need to go.
— Urgent business, — Dad nodded.
— Emma, let’s go, — whispered Alex, already putting on his jacket.
— Wait, — I tried to stop them. — Seriously?…
But they were already getting up one by one. Smiling. Patting Grandpa on the shoulder and throwing out the usual phrases:
— It was delicious!
— Thanks for the treat, Dad.
Grandpa was left alone. With trembling hands and a sad look.
I stayed with him. I looked at the bill. It was far too much for his pension. I paid it myself. Not because I could afford it — but because I couldn’t leave him like they did.
The next morning, I made copies of the receipt and the payment slip. I printed them out and put them in envelopes, sending one to each family member — my parents, my aunt, uncle, even Alex.
In each envelope was a note:
**”You didn’t forget to pay for the bill. You forgot to pay for the love and care of the one who gave you everything.”**
A few days passed — silence. Only Aunt Mary sent a message:
**”You’re overreacting. We just didn’t think about it.”**
And Grandpa…
He never found out about my letters. He kept justifying the family:
— Maybe they felt awkward… Everyone has their own concerns…
Since then, every Sunday, I take Grandpa to a café. He carefully dresses up, smooths his gray hair, and we go out.
At the café, we order a salad — Grandpa loves “Caesar”, coffee, dessert, and we talk. He smiles — genuinely. Because he knows there’s someone who will never leave him alone at the table until he finishes his piece of cake.
