I dashed into the hospital, where the air smelled of bleach and worry.
I pushed through the corridor doors, my chest burning from the sprint up the stairs. Every step echoed in my skull.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped my phone. All I could see was that text burned into my mind.
“Choose, or watch him die.”
“Please, please,” I whispered to no one. “Let him be okay.”
When I reached my father’s room, the world tilted.
He was there. Alive. Breathing. But pale, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven rhythms. The heart monitor beeped a tired rhythm, steady but weak. A nurse looked up from her chart, startled by my entrance.
“Miss Riley…”
“What happened?” My voice came out strangled.
“He’s stable,” she said gently. “No change since last night. But someone left this.
