Mathilda’s POV
“Are you a relative of Mr. Goyle?”
A nurse came out of my father’s hospital room. My heart skipped a beat — bad news usually followed when hospital staff appeared unexpectedly. But her gentle smile told me this wasn’t one of those moments. Or at least, I tried to stay positive.
“I’m his daughter.”
“Perfect. Please come in. Mr. Goyle has regained consciousness, and he keeps asking for Mathilda.”
Her words brought such relief that I immediately rose from the bench and followed her into the room.
“Mathilda, my daughter, where are you? I want to see Mathilda!”
I heard my father’s faint voice from behind the door ahead. When it opened, I saw a middle-aged man lying weakly in bed, surrounded by medical equipment. My father. In the corner of the room, he kept calling for me.
