ADRIENNE’s POV
I sat on the edge of my father’s bed, gently patting his forehead with a damp handkerchief. His skin felt clammy under the cloth, and his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, vacant and unfocused. He hadn’t acknowledged me once since I’d come here, not a flicker of recognition, not even when I whispered his name.
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. This wasn’t right.
Some days he was almost himself: sharp, opinionated, asking about the garden or complaining about the news. Other days, like today, he was barely there, a shell staring into nothing. The doctors blamed the mild stroke and the heart attack, but the pattern felt too erratic, too sudden.
I glanced at Darlene, who was folding fresh sheets in the corner. “Darlene, is Dad on any medication besides what his cardiolo
