My fingers trembled so hard I could barely hold the note.
The words blurred as my tears fell onto the page, bleeding the ink into tiny blue rivers.
The paper felt thin, fragile, like my entire world. My father’s hand lay limp beside it, pale against the white hospital sheet.
“Dad,” I whispered, shaking his arm gently. “Dad, wake up. Please, wake up.”
No response.
His breathing was steady, but faint. The rhythmic beep of the monitor was the only sound filling the sterile air. I pressed the nurse call button, but my hand was shaking too badly to even hold it down.
When the nurse rushed in, I stepped back, clutching the note behind me.
“He’s fine,” she said after checking his vitals. “Just sleeping deeply. You should get some rest too, Miss Riley.”
Rest. The word felt like a cruel jo
