Chapter 2: The Promise
1279 Words
Carter did not remember walking through the hospital.
He did not notice the pale walls, the polished floors, or the soft voices drifting past him. Nurses moved around him like shadows, but none of them reached him. His body carried itself forward, step after step, pulled by something heavy and relentless. Fear, yes, but also something deeper. A weight he could not name.
Room 318 waited at the end of the hall.
The door was half-open.
Carter halted in front of it. His hand hovered in the air, fingers stiff, unsteady. For a moment, he stood there, like his feet glued on the floor, breathing shallow, as if crossing that threshold would seal something forever.
Then slowly pushed the wooden.
The hinges creaked as the door opened wider, slow and tired, like they too were worn down by what lay inside.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that pressed against his ears until his own breathing sounded wrong, too loud, too alive.
His father lay on the bed.
Once, the man had filled every room he entered. His broad shoulders, his loud voice, and unshakable presence. Now he looked small against the white sheets. His skin was pale, almost gray. Tubes ran from his arms and nose, thin and clear, like truths he had never spoken out loud.
A monitor beeped steadily beside him.
Still here, it said.
Barely.
His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell, shallow and uneven. Each breath looked like effort, like something being borrowed instead of owned.
Carter felt something crack inside him.
He took a step forward. Then another.
The smell of antiseptic burned his nose, mixing with metal and the faint sweetness of wilting flowers in a forgotten vase. Moonlight slipped through the blinds, laying thin golden lines across the bed, but none of it touched his father’s face.
“Dad?” Carter said.
The word came out barely louder than a breath.
Nothing happened.
His stomach dropped. His pulse thundered in his ears.
Then—
A sound.
Rough. Broken.
Each breath rattled like something loose inside him, like his lungs were giving out one shred at a time.
“Carter…” his father rasped. “My boy.”
Carter crossed the room in seconds. He reached for his father’s hand, wrapping it in both of his, afraid to squeeze too hard, afraid to let go.
“I’m here,” he said quickly. “I’m right here.”
His voice cracked, splitting down the middle.
His father stirred, then coughed violently. The sound tore through him, deep and harsh, shaking his entire frame. Carter leaned closer, helpless, watching every breath scrape its way out like it might be the last.
“It’s my time, son,” his father said when the coughing eased.
“No,” Carter said at once. He shook his head, panic flooding his chest. “No. Don’t say that. You’ll be okay. You’ll—”
The words stopped.
He couldn’t finish the lie.
He knew better. He had seen this too many times. The hollowed face. The failing lungs. The quiet way the body began to give up.
“I wanted…” his father said, struggling for air, “…to tell you something.”
Carter tightened his grip, afraid his hands were the only thing holding him here. “Save your strength.”
His father gave a faint shake of his head. “No.”
Another breath. Shallow. Thin.
“I’m proud of you.”
The words hit Carter harder than anything else.
His vision blurred. He stared down at his father’s face, searching for something familiar, his strength, his stubbornness, the man who never said what mattered.
“Dad…” His throat burned.
I mean it,” his father pressed, voice thin but certain. “You had your own path, stubborn as a mule. You never let go, not once. Even when it hurt.”
A tear slid down Carter’s cheek before he could stop it.
“I saw it,” his father continued. “I always did.”
For years, they had lived beside each other, not together. Conversations left unfinished. Words swallowed by pride. Now, in this narrow space between breaths, everything felt exposed.
“I love you,” Carter whispered.
His father smiled. It was small, fragile, but real.
Then his eyes shifted toward the nightstand. His hand twitched, weak, searching.
Carter followed his gaze. He reached for what his father was trying to grab.
A photograph.
Worn. Creased at the edges.
Carter froze when he saw it.
Her.
His mother.
She looked younger in the picture. Softer. Smiling the way she used to when Carter was small, head tilted, eyes warm.
The sight stung.
“She left,” Carter said quietly. The bitterness rose before he could stop it. “She walked away like we didn’t matter.”
His father’s fingers tightened around his wrist with surprising strength.
“Find her,” he said.
Carter stiffened. “No.”
“There are things,” his father whispered, “you need to know.”
“You can’t ask me that,” Carter said, his jaw tightening. “Not after what she did. Not after everything.”
His father didn’t argue.
He only looked at him.
There was no anger in his eyes. No regret. Just a calm Carter had never seen before. A peace that felt earned.
“You have to let go,” his father said. “The future… it’s yours now.”
His chest lifted for the last time, as air rattled in his throat, trembling, fighting before his final breath tore out at him.
And then—
A sharp beep cut the room, and the line went flat stealing his last breath.
Carter stayed where he was. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hands still wrapped around his father’s, waiting for warmth that never came back.
The sound stopped.
Silence rushed in.
The strongest man Carter had ever known was gone.
He didn’t know how long he stood there. Time lost meaning. Eventually, someone touched his shoulder. Someone said his name.
But all Carter could think about was the promise now sitting heavy in his chest.
A promise he never wanted to keep.
One Month Later
The plane shuddered through turbulence.
Carter didn’t react.
He stared out the window at the clouds below, soft, endless, hiding whatever storms waited underneath.
Dave sat beside him, nursing a soda. He glanced over, hesitant. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
Carter didn’t look away. “No.”
Dave nodded. He didn’t push.
The taxi ride from the airport was quiet. The road twisted through hills and trees Carter didn’t recognize. His chest felt tight, crowded with emotions that didn’t fit together. Grief, anger, longing.
They stopped on a narrow street.
Flowers lined the fences. Bright. Careful. Too perfect.
“This is it,” the driver said.
Carter stepped out.
He unfolded the photograph again. His thumb traced the crease across his mother’s smile.
The front door opened.
She stood there.
She looked older but not broken. Her posture was straight. Her clothes neat. Her eyes sharp.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Carter’s chest tightened. For a split second, he was a child again, waiting by the door, listening for her voice.
He took a step back.
Then another.
Gravel shifted under his shoes.
The wind tugged at his jacket, urging him to stop.
Behind him, the door creaked.
No one called his name.
Carter shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.
Because turning back meant reopening a wound he didn’t yet know how to survive.
Not yet.
- Writer
