When Pieter found out, he was furious.
They were sitting in Greta’s kitchen.
He had discovered an appointment letter among her papers.
“Mum, you missed this.”
Greta glanced at it.
“I wasn’t feeling well that day.”
“Then why didn’t you reschedule?”
“I meant to.”
“That was three months ago.”
She looked away.
Pieter placed the letter on the table.
“You need to take this seriously.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Greta stiffened.
“Don’t speak to me like that.”
He took a breath.
“I’m sorry. But you’ve been breathless for weeks.”
“It’s not every day.”
“That’s not the point.”
She began folding a napkin.
Pieter leaned forward.
“You just gave Hannah a substantial amount of money. You can’t tell me you don’t have enough for your own care.”
Greta looked at him sharply.
“That money was hers.”
“Your health is yours.”
She said nothing.
He softened his voice.
“Mum, please. Let us help.”
For a long time, Greta looked at the table.
Then she nodded.
Pieter helped arrange medical follow-up.
Further assessment confirmed that her condition required closer management.
Her medications were reviewed, and the family discussed practical ways to support her.
Greta followed much of the advice.
But she remained physically frail.
Hannah found the situation difficult to accept.
She had spent her childhood thinking of Greta as indestructible.
The old woman carried heavy shopping bags, climbed stairs without complaint, sewed for hours, and argued with shopkeepers over the quality of fabric.
Now she needed to sit down after walking a short distance.
Her hands shook occasionally when pouring tea.
Some mornings, she did not have the energy to prepare breakfast.
Hannah watched these changes with growing unease.
For once, she wished her grandmother would complain.
In August, the family travelled to Vienna to help Hannah move into her student flat.
It was on the third floor of an old building not far from a tram line, with high ceilings, uneven wooden floors, and a narrow kitchen shared by four students.
The room was small.
There was a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and one window overlooking a courtyard.
Hannah loved it immediately.
Greta had wanted to come.
Her doctor had advised caution about unnecessary exertion, and the family agreed that she should remain in Graz rather than undertake a tiring day of travel and stairs.
She protested.
Pieter promised to send photographs.
Greta complained that photographs were not the same as seeing something properly.
Then she packed Hannah a box of household necessities.
Tea towels.
Needles.
Thread.
A small screwdriver.
Safety pins.
A packet of plasters.
Spare buttons.
Hannah opened the box the evening before departure.
She laughed.
“Grandma, I’m going to university, not a survival camp.”
Greta sat in her armchair.
“Things break at university too.”
Hannah picked up the screwdriver.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Fix something.”
“Like what?”
“Whatever breaks.”
Hannah shook her head, smiling.
Then she noticed a small envelope at the bottom.
Inside was a handwritten list.
Check the windows before winter. Don’t leave wet clothes on the bed. Keep copies of important documents. Eat something proper before drinking coffee.
At the bottom, Greta had added:
Call me when you have time.
Hannah looked at the note.
“You know I will.”
Greta nodded.
“Good.”
The next morning, Hannah stopped by the apartment before leaving Graz.
Her suitcase was in the car.
Her parents were waiting downstairs.
Greta was sitting near the kitchen window.
She had put on her good cardigan again.
Hannah entered carrying a small paper bag.
“I brought you something.”
Greta looked surprised.
“For me?”
Hannah nodded.
Inside was a framed illustration.
It showed the kitchen window, the tram passing outside, a cup of tea, and a small metal box on the table.
Greta examined it.
“That’s my kitchen.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s the old box.”
“Yes.”
Her grandmother smiled.
“You made the box look rather handsome.”
Hannah sat beside her.
“I thought you could put it on the shelf.”
Greta looked at the picture for a long time.
Then she placed it carefully on the table.
“Thank you.”
Hannah watched her.
There was something unusually quiet about the afternoon.
Greta seemed tired.
Her breathing was shallow.
She kept one hand resting on the arm of the chair.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Greta smiled.
“I’m sitting in my own kitchen. That’s a good start.”
Hannah did not laugh.
“You promise you’ll look after yourself?”
Greta looked at her.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Properly.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll call Dad if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Hannah hesitated.
Then she knelt beside the chair.
“I’m sorry about all the things I said when I was younger.”
Greta sighed.
“Hannah, we’ve discussed this.”
“I know.”
“You apologised.”
“I know.”
“Then stop punishing yourself.”
Hannah looked down.
Greta touched her hair.
“You were a child. You didn’t know everything.”
“I was horrible to you.”
“Sometimes.”
Hannah laughed shakily.
Greta smiled.
“You were also kind. And funny. And curious. I remember those things too.”
Hannah leaned forward and hugged her.
Greta held her for a long moment.
Then she gently pushed her back.
“Go on. Your father’s probably checking the parking meter.”
Hannah laughed.
She stood.
At the door, she turned.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll make you proud.”
Greta looked at her.
“You already have.”
Hannah stood still.
Her grandmother waved a hand.
“Now go before you miss your own future.”
Hannah smiled.
Then she left.
Vienna was louder than Hannah expected.
The trams rattled past her window.
Students argued in the kitchen about washing-up.
The supermarket near her flat charged more than the one she knew in Graz.
She spent her first week learning routes, attending orientation sessions, buying materials, and worrying that everybody else in her programme was more talented.
The course was demanding from the beginning.
Students were expected to present work, defend their decisions, and revise projects repeatedly.
