“Papà!”
My voice feels distant, almost swallowed by the cold, clinical quiet of the lab. I’m moving before my brain can catch up, shoving the stool out of the way as I drop to my knees beside him. He’s sprawled on the floor, his arm bent awkwardly beneath him. The color in his face seems to drain in an instant.
My hands hover over him, frantic and unsure of where to start. My heart hammers as panic claws its way up my throat. His eyes flutter toward mine. He tries to push himself up but can’t, wincing as his weight shifts.
“Cara.”
“Don’t move,” I blurt, my hands shaking as I press gently on his shoulder to keep him still.
“Alright, I got coffee, so let’s get back to those?—”
I barely have time to register Diego’s voice. His words cut off mid-sentence. The slap of cups hitting the table echoes as he rushes forward.
“What happened?”
His voice is sharp now, almost accusatory, and all traces of his usual smirk are gone when he crouches opposite me.
“I . . . I don’t know. He . . . he fell. I can’t . . .”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. Diego moves quickly, his hands steady as he checks my father’s arm, his brow furrowing as he takes in the awkward angle.
“Papà, where does it hurt?”
“My arm.”
“It could be sprained.”
He groans softly, his face twisting with pain as he shifts slightly.
“Let’s get him into a chair,” Diego commands, taking charge of the situation. He spots the one at my desk and is off the floor, retrieving it in seconds.
“Hold onto the chair.”
I jump to my feet, bracing my hands on the rolling chair to prevent it from moving, while Diego practically lifts him in one fluid motion. Once seated, he exhales sharply.
His face is pale but composed. He’s always been so strong, so unshakable, and seeing him like this. Fragile and, dare I say, old, makes my chest ache.
“How’s your head? Did you hit it?”
Diego crouches before him, his worried eyes scanning my father’s face.
“Professor Rossi, can you check for a knot or bump on the back of it?”
Papà shakes his head weakly, his lips pressing into a faint grimace when I plunge my fingers into his hair.
“No, just a tumble, and my arm caught my fall.” His voice is faint despite the confident words. “Cara, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” I nearly shriek, my pulse hammering in my chest. “Did you get dizzy? Or feel faint? Has this happened before, Papà? This is how it started with mother.”
“No, no, cara. Just lost my balance,” he mumbles through gritted teeth, grimacing at the mention of her memory. “It doesn’t feel broken, and I’ve broken some bones in my time.”
“He needs a sling to keep it immobile.” His movements are tense as he looks around for something to stabilize the arm. “Do you have anything we can use?”
My eyes dart around the lab, landing on my lab coat hanging near the door. I grab it, fumbling with the fabric as I hand it to Diego. He folds the coat into a makeshift support and gently secures it around Papà’s arm and neck.
“This’ll hold until we get him to a doctor.”
My father winces as the sling settles, but he doesn’t protest. His eyes meet mine with a faint smile that does nothing to quell the panic still coursing through me.
