I don’t know if this even counts as a confession, like, maybe it’s just me being stupid or too sensitive. I think maybe it is. I dunno. But like, it’s 2:17 AM and I can’t sleep and it’s just stuck in my head from yesterday and I feel kinda sick thinking about it. My grandma – she’s really old, like 80 something, I don’t even remember the exact number but she’s kinda frail, you know? She lives alone and my dad goes to visit her every Sunday. It’s like, their thing. They have dinner, or he drops off groceries, whatever. I usually go with him because my mom makes me. She says it’s important to spend time with family and like, yeah, I get that. But it’s always kinda quiet and awkward. Like, really quiet. So yesterday, we went over at like, 6 PM, after I finished my art homework. I was kinda stressed because I had this huge painting due for my portfolio and it just wasn't looking right, you know? Like the colors were off. But Mom said, "family first," so I stuffed my sketchbook in my backpack and went. Grandma had made dinner. It was like, some kind of stew with potatoes and stuff. It smelled good when we first got there, but then she just put it on the table and sat down. My dad sat across from her and I sat next to him. And then… nothing happened. Nobody said anything. My grandma started eating her stew. Really slow. Like, she was chewing each bite for a long time. And the stew, it was already cold. You could tell, because there was this little film on top, like when gravy gets cold. And steam wasn’t coming off it or anything. She just ate it, spoonful by spoonful, not complaining or anything. She just… ate. My dad, though. He was on his phone. The whole time. Like, from the minute we sat down. He wasn’t even hiding it. He just had it propped up against his water glass and he was scrolling. I could see the screen reflecting in his glasses. It was some kind of sports thing, I think. Or news. I don't know. He just kept swiping up, up, up. Every now and then he'd chuckle to himself, a little huff of air. And Grandma, she would look up, like, every few minutes. From her cold stew. She’d just look at him. Not saying anything. Not even opening her mouth to talk, just watching him scroll. And then she’d look back down at her bowl and take another tiny, cold spoonful. She didn’t say a word to him the whole dinner. He didn't say a word to her. I swear we were there for like, twenty, maybe thirty minutes. It felt like HOURS. I tried to make conversation, like, "Grandma, your stew is good," and she just smiled a little, a really tiny smile, and said "Thank you, sweetie." And then it was quiet again. Dad just kept scrolling. I tried to draw in my sketchbook under the table, but I felt so weird, like I was breaking some rule. When we left, my dad just said, "See ya, Mom," still kinda half-looking at his phone as he stood up. And she just nodded. She looked so small, standing there in the doorway as we walked away. Her house felt so big and empty behind her. And the thing is, I didn’t say anything either. I just sat there. Eating my own cold stew. And now I feel like the WORST person ever. Like, why didn’t I say something? Why didn’t I tell Dad to put his phone away? Or like, ask Grandma if she wanted me to heat up her food? Or even just ask her about her week? She probably had stuff to talk about. She always has stuff she wants to tell me about her garden or the birds she sees. I just sat there, quiet, just like her. And now I’m thinking about it and it’s like this heavy rock in my stomach. And I don’t know if it’s just because I was annoyed about my painting or what. But I feel like I totally failed her. And I feel so bad that I’m only realizing it now, lying in bed, instead of when I was actually there. I think about her eating that cold stew all alone, watching him scroll. I just feel so ashamed. Like, a really DEEP shame. I really hope she doesn't think I'm like him. I hope she doesn't think I don't care. I do. I really do. I just didn't know what to do.