Savannah
“You look older,” my dad said, his gaze searching mine.
A small, dry chuckle escaped me. “I am.”
“And even more beautiful,” he added, a faint smile touching his lips.
I gestured for him to follow, leading him through the corridors back to the ICU. Inside Jermaine’s room, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors was a constant soundtrack, a reminder that my son was alive, fighting. The moment we stepped inside, my father’s eyes found Jermaine. They locked onto the figure in the bed.
“He’s so strong,” he murmured, his voice thick with pure, simple love for the little boy in the bed. He moved closer, leaning over the railing to get a better look at Jermaine’s face. “Is he… is he okay?”
I nodded.
“How long has he been like this?” he asked, his attention still fixed on his grandson.
