His innocent wife is a dangerous hacker. Chapter 885 I’m not ready yet

"Grandpa, please..." Bella’s voice shook. She squeezed his hand gently, desperately. "Say something. Grandpa, look at me."

.

Bella stared at his face, waiting for him to blink, to breathe, to move but he didn’t. He just sat there, so still, so quiet, as though life had simply slipped away from him without any struggle.

Her body suddenly felt weak and uncontrollable.

She didn’t hear herself speak, but she felt her lips moving.

"Grandpa... wake up..."

Her voice broke completely.

"Please."

Leo stepped closer and placed a steady hand on her shoulder.

"Bella..."

She shook her head.

"No..."

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"No, no, no..."

She lowered her forehead against his cold hand, still kneeling beside him.

"Please wake up, Grandpa."

Her tears fell onto his pale skin.

"Please... I’m not ready yet..."

She lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen, searching his face desperately.

Leo knelt beside her and gently pulled her into his arms.

Bella collapsed against him, sobbing.

"He was just talking to me a minute ago," she cried. "He was just smiling. He was just—"

She couldn’t finish.

Leo held her tighter.

"I know, Bunny. I know."

Her hands fisted against his shirt. "I didn’t get to say goodbye properly."

She cried into his chest.

"Grandpa..."

Leo closed his eyes and held her close.

"Neither did I."

Bella looked up at him for a moment.

"He was ready, Bella." Leo’s voice was gentle. "He knew. He said everything he wanted to say. He said goodbye in his own way."

Bella shook her head.

"It’s not enough."

"I know." Leo pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It’s never enough."

Losing someone you loved was never as simple as saying goodbye.

For Bella, it felt as though her mind had stopped understanding what was happening around her. She could hear people speaking, see people moving, feel hands gently touching her shoulders, but none of it seemed real. She was breathing, she was walking, she was answering when someone spoke to her but beyond that, she could barely feel anything. It was as though her heart had become too exhausted to react.

The thought kept returning to her but every time it did, her mind seemed to reject it. Her grandfather was supposed to be there. He was supposed to tease her, complain about his medicines, ask her to sit beside him, point at clouds and insist they looked like bunnies. But now there was only silence where his voice used to be.

The family held his funeral with all the respect and love he deserved.

Many people came to pay their final respects. People William had known throughout his long life arrived one after another, some carrying flowers, some quietly offering condolences, and some unable to hold back their tears. Even several of his former employees came. Some of them stood silently in front of his photograph for a long time.

One elderly man wiped his eyes repeatedly before whispering, "He was a good man."

Another shook his head sadly. "I worked for him for twenty years. He never treated us like we were beneath him. He remembered everyone’s name. He helped my family when my son was sick. He was strict sometimes..." The man gave a small, broken smile. "But he always had a good heart."

Those words made the atmosphere even heavier. William’s death wasn’t only the loss of a family member. For many people, he had been a mentor, an employer, a friend and sometimes even the person who had helped them when they had nowhere else to turn.

News of his death spread quickly. His name appeared across several newspapers and online news reports, with articles remembering his long career, his contributions to his company and the people he had supported throughout his life.

Meanwhile, the Moretti household was gloomy and sad after his death.

Jay, who was normally incapable of staying quiet for more than five minutes, barely spoke. Dominique, who had just come overnight after hearing the news, had lost his usual playful smile. Jason, who was always making jokes and irritating everyone around him, sat quietly for long periods, staring at nothing.

Even Alessandro and Lina spoke in lowered voices. Nonna spent much of her time sitting quietly with her rosary in her hands, occasionally wiping her eyes when she thought nobody was watching.

Leo remained close to Bella. He didn’t try to force her to talk. He knew there were some kinds of pain that words couldn’t touch.

Bella simply sat quietly, her hands resting in her lap, staring at the photograph of William. She looked strangely calm.

Miss J sat beside her, her eyes swollen from crying. She gently reached for Bella’s hand. Bella allowed her to hold it but she didn’t respond. She simply stared ahead.

Leo watched her from across the room, his expression filled with quiet concern. He knew Bella was hurting. Perhaps more than anyone else but sometimes grief didn’t arrive as tears. Sometimes it arrived as emptiness and silence. As waking up and forgetting for a few seconds that someone was gone, only for reality to return with quiet cruelty.

Bella had stopped crying. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She was simply breathing. One breath after another. And for now, that was all she could manage.

Leo slowly walked over and sat beside her without saying anything. He simply took her cold hand into his and held it.

Bella looked down at their joined hands. Then, very slowly, she leaned against his shoulder.

Leo lowered his head and rested it gently against hers.

Neither of them said anything.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

After a few days, Bella still remained unusually quiet.

She was trying to accept everything that had happened, but a part of her still couldn’t believe that he was really gone.

Every morning, she woke up and for a brief, fleeting moment, she forgot. She would think about calling him, about visiting him, about asking how he was feeling. Then reality would settle in coldly and she would remember all over again.

Everything around her continued as usual, but to Bella, it all felt strangely distant, as though she were watching someone else’s life unfold from behind a glass wall. She could see the movement, hear the voices but nothing seemed to reach her.

She often found herself sitting in the garden, staring at the same patch of flowers William had once pointed out to her. She remembered the way he had described each one, the names he had given them, the way his eyes had crinkled when he laughed at something she said. Those memories were still so vivid that it felt impossible to believe he was no longer here.