Still, watching him struggle made something ache in my chest. There was no dignity in this. Even with good care, even with the morphine drip, being trapped in a failing body had to be unbearable. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Not even him.
“Dad, stop,” I said. “She’s just doing her job.”
“Ah, fuck you too, James.”
The name hit harder than his cursing.
James. Only he ever called me that.
It used to be our thing. Something he’d say while tugging my hair or poking my ribs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. You find my daughter yet, James? Mom and Trina would laugh, playing along with the old joke. I’d roll my eyes and act annoyed, but inside I’d be glowing.
It had mattered more than I’d ever let on.
Still did.
He hadn’t used the name in so long I’d almost forgotten it belonged to me. Not since Mom and Trina died. Not since the house went quiet and the laughter all stopped.
Hearing it now felt like being handed a piece of who we used to be—a father and daughter who had inside jokes and gentle teasing. Before everything went wrong.
A cracked and fragile souvenir from a childhood I didn’t get to keep.
“You’re useless here,” he went on. “Useless, just like me. You might as well leave like you did before. Eleven years…and now you come back? For what?”
His voice faded toward the end, the anger draining out of him as his body gave up the fight. He’d never cared who heard him rage before. Never softened his words for an audience. But now even his cruelty lacked conviction.
“It’s only been about ten years,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But ten years or ten days doesn’t really matter. I’m here now. And I’m the only one.” I nodded toward the nurse. “Other than her. And she’s trying to help, whether you like it or not.”
Telling him to calm down was pointless, so I didn’t bother. He didn’t have the strength to keep going. His hair, once dark and thick, had thinned to wisps of white. His skin had taken on a grayish hue that made him look more like a ghost than a man. He’d lost so much weight his face looked hollow, sharp in places it had never been before.
It was nothing like the last time I saw him. Back then, he’d been round and red-faced, screaming at me like he had all the energy in the world.
“Just leave me alone,” he rasped. “Just let me die.”
He meant it.
The truth was there in his eyes. There was no fight left in him. No stubborn refusal to quit. Only exhaustion. Like life had stopped offering him anything worth holding on to.
And that made something ugly twist inside me.
You selfish bastard.
All that time. All of it wasted. Every chance he’d blown, every door he’d slammed shut, every moment he’d chosen pride and anger over love. Ten years of birthdays and Christmas mornings and milestones he’d never asked about.
And still I was here, counting heartbeats instead of packing lunches or helping with homework, for a man who made it clear he didn’t want me.
He resented my presence here almost as much as I did.
“Mr. Hartley.” The nurse shook her head. “Please. Your daughter’s here for you. We all are.”
His glare didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened.
“I don’t want a thing from any of you,” he growled. “And she’s the worst excuse for a daughter that ever existed. So don’t pretend I should care that she’s here.”
Worst excuse for a daughter.
The knot in my stomach spread, taking hold of my chest.
