I sat curled up on one of the waiting room chairs, arms wrapped tightly around myself. My father had been taken in over thirty minutes ago, and not a single doctor had come out to say a word.
The silence was unbearable, so was the steady tick of the clock above me, echoing louder with every second. I kept replaying the moment I found him. How pale his face had looked, how fragile he suddenly became in my arms.
My phone buzzed in my lap, interrupting my thoughts.
Martin. His name flashing on the screen.
I hesitated, staring at the screen. I should have called him earlier, but the emergency didn't permit me. Finally, I swiped to answer.
“I'm sorry I didn't call you, Martin. Something came up,” I said before he could say anything.
“What happened?” His voice was surprisingly calm.
