Half a Watermelon in the Fridge

After my grandmother passed away, I went back to my hometown to sort through her belongings. When I opened the refrigerator, I found half a watermelon inside, carefully wrapped in plastic wrap, with a note next to it that read: 'Eat this when Ah-ming gets back.' That was my childhood nickname. When I was little, Grandma would always buy a watermelon whenever I visited during summer vacation. Her teeth weren't great, but she always saved the sweetest piece for me. As I got older, I found her frequent calls annoying and often hung up after a brief chat. On our last call, she asked when I was coming home. I said, 'I'm busy with work lately, I'll come by in a bit.' She just replied, 'Okay, if you're busy.' After that, I never received another call from her. Standing in front of the fridge, I took out the half watermelon. The flesh had already spoiled, and even the plastic wrap had lost its original transparency. I threw it in the trash and sat in the kitchen, crying for a long time. That night, my mom sent me a photo taken the last time Grandma went to the market before she passed. She was standing in front of a watermelon stall, holding a watermelon, smiling and asking the vendor which one was the sweetest. The date was written on the back of the photo. It was the very day I had said, 'I'll come by in a bit.' I finally understood. That half watermelon wasn't for her to eat. She just kept believing that I would be home soon. <It's only after growing up that you realize, some people aren't waiting for you anymore; by the time you finally return, they can no longer wait.>