Burying the Village Well, Digging up Regret Chapter 2

By the time I got back to the village, Grandpa's house was in ruins.

The pots of flowers he'd lovingly tended had been smashed to pieces, the dirt scattered everywhere. The drying rack had been knocked over and was now lying in the mud. I saw broken pans and tableware strewn all over the lawn.

There were even a few bloodstained bricks. Thankfully, the blood was from the chickens. They'd caught the two old hens Grandpa raised and thrown them violently to kill them right in front of him.

The front door was ajar. Grandpa was bent over, clutching a broom and breathing heavily as he swept shards of broken glass out of the house.

His hands were trembling. He could barely keep a steady grip on the broom.

"Grandpa." My voice sounded rough and cracked.

Grandpa was stunned to see me. Then his expression changed, and the broom slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground.

"Freddy..."

He took two steps toward me and nearly collapsed. I rushed over and caught him. His body felt like ice. When I touched his clothes, I could tell they were drenched with sweat.

"Are you hurt, Grandpa?" I asked as I checked him over from head to toe.

He shook his head. His weathered face was twisted with grief and indignation as he gripped my hand with surprising force.

"Freddy…" His voice was thick with both anger and sorrow. "Let's leave this place."

When he said those words, it felt like a hammer that struck me in the heart. I knew exactly what that meant to him.

Grandpa and Grandma had built this house themselves, brick by brick. It was home to a lifetime of his memories. In the past, no matter how much I'd tried to convince him, he'd adamantly refused to leave.

But now, he was suggesting it himself.

"Okay." I clenched my teeth, forcing down the heartache I felt. "Let's leave."

I'd spent years trying to cajole him into enjoying a comfortable life with me in the city. He always said the village was home—that his old neighbors were here, along with the scenery he knew by heart.

But now, he had finally seen the villagers for who they really were.

I straightened up and went into the house. After pulling out a suitcase, I quickly stuffed in a few of Grandpa's old clothes, along with the blood pressure medication he took every day.

"Let's go, Grandpa."

The sky was slowly lightening, and the rain had stopped. I carried the suitcase in one hand and supported Grandpa with the other.

However, the moment we reached the front gate, a crowd surged in and blocked our path. Madam Mitchell stood in the lead with a shovel in hand. She swung it against my car. The metal tip slammed into the front bumper, chipping off a patch of paint.

Then she shot me a glare and sneered. "Trying to run away, huh? Forget about it!"

I eyed her coldly. "Get out of the way."

But she simply spat on the ground. "You want me to get out of the way? You ruined the village well. None of us has access to clean water now. Yet you want to just dust off your hands and walk away? What makes you think we'll let you get off that easy?"