My cheeks heat, even in this cold room, even with my father lying in bed unconscious.
I look down at our hands like they can hide me.
“I’m not going to tell you everything,” I say, because that’s the line for me. “Because I can’t. Because you’d be so disappointed in me. Even half asleep. And because I don’t even know what it all means yet.”
My throat works around the next words.
“He stayed,” I say softly. “Just until morning. So I wouldn’t be alone. So I could sleep.”
We didn’t sleep much. And for just a few hours, I was able to set aside my worry for Dad.
I squeeze Dad’s hand, gently.
“I know,” I whisper. “I know how that sounds. I know I should feel guilty, and I do, because you were here and I was there.”
I blink hard.
“But I also—” My voice wavers. “I also needed it. I needed someone. I needed to stop feeling like I was holding the entire world up all by myself, and if I moved even just a little, everything would come crashing down.”
I swallow, then add, quieter:
“And he didn’t make it worse.”
My eyes sting again, and I stare at Dad’s face until the sting turns into tears anyway.
“I wish you were awake,” I whisper. “I wish you’d open your eyes and roll them at me and tell me to stop crying like I’m made of glass.”
My voice breaks.
“I wish you’d tell me you’re coming home,” I say.
I sit back, wiping my cheek with the heel of my hand. It’s pointless. The tears keep coming, slower now, not the violent kind from yesterday. Just steady.
“I want you to recover,” I tell him. “I want you to wake up and be pissed off about the tube and complain about the hospital food and argue with me about the TV volume and pretend you’re fine even when you’re not.”
I huff a shaky breath.
“And I want you to let me take care of you,” I add. “At least a little. Just for a while. Because you’ve taken care of me my whole life, and I need you to let me take a turn now.”
I lean forward and press my mouth to the back of his hand. A quick kiss.
“I’m going to get you home,” I whisper. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take, but I’m going to do it.”
The door opens quietly behind me.
I stiffen on instinct and wipe my face again, faster this time.
The door clicks softly, and I turn fast, heart jumping like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
It’s the same doctor from last night. The urologist. I rack my exhausted brain. Dr. Shah?
He gives me a small nod as he walks in.
“They told me you were in here,” he says quietly. “How are you holding up?”
I wipe my cheek again, even though it’s pointless. “I’m… here,” I manage, which is not an answer.
His gaze flicks to my dad, then back to me. He steps farther into the room and keeps his voice low.
