The next word chills me to the bone.
“Help.”
I grab my keys and wallet from the table and bolt out the door. “I’m coming, Dad. I’m going to hang up and call an ambulance, okay? Is the door unlocked?”
“Yes.” His voice cracks, strangled by fear.
“Hang on. Ten minutes. I’m coming.”
I end the call, my throat tight, and dial 999. My hands are shaking.
Seven minutes later—record time, even with London traffic—I turn into his street. My stomach drops at the sight of an ambulance blocking the road. I should be relieved they made it before me, but those flashing blue lights are ghosts from my past. The same ones that lit up my bedroom when my father told me Mum had died.
Please, God. Not again.
“Dad!” I burst through the door. Paramedics are bent over him, oxygen mask on his face, searching for a vein.
“What’s happening?” I grab the nearest medic, my voice sharper than I intend.
“Your dad appears to have sepsis. We’re giving him oxygen, IV paracetamol, and fluids before taking him to hospital.”
“Is he going to be okay?” My voice cracks. He looks grey, hollow. Every breath seems to cost him.
“We’ll know more once the drugs kick in and he’s assessed, but we’re optimistic,” the medic says softly, placing a reassuring hand on my arm before returning to him.
I press myself against the wall, helpless, while they work. When they finally wheel him out, he catches my hand, his grip weak but firm enough to undo me. My throat burns, but I force myself to keep it together.
“You’ll be okay, Dad. I’ll meet you there. Right behind you.”
He squeezes my hand again before they load him into the ambulance. I stand frozen, watching the doors close.
The same medic touches my shoulder gently. “We’re taking him on lights. Don’t rush, okay? He’ll be seen straight away. Head to main reception when you get there—they’ll tell you where to wait.”
Her calm tone pulls me out of the fog, and I nod, forcing myself to move. My body acts before my mind can catch up, my legs carrying me back to the car.
All I can think, over and over, isplease, not him too.
Seven
Matilda
Istep into the office expecting the usual chaos. Phones ringing, shoes squeaking on the marble floor, Henry’s voice echoing orders down the hallway. But today… silence. It’s unnerving.
I reach my desk, set down my bag, and glance toward his office. Empty. His coat isn’t on the stand, his computer screen is dark. Maybe he’s gone to an early meeting? I set his coffee on the desk anyway—force of habit—and open my inbox to check if I missed something.
That’s when I see it.
From:[email protected]
Subject:Day off
Matilda,
I’m having a personal day. Cancel all my meetings.
Henry
