I grabbed two coffees from a vendor on the street corner and made my way out of the chill and into the sterile smell of the now familiar hospital.
"Rhea!" His voice was like a dream. Warm and soothing to the nerves. It made everything I worried about melt away and none of it mattered anymore. All those problems were little in comparison to seeing the smile on his face as I walked in.
"Good morning, Papa. Black coffee, no sugar and a splash of cream." He took the offered cup with a wide smile.
"You're my angel, Rhea. The sludge they have in here is no good." I sat on the edge of his bed and enjoyed the sound of that aged, gravelly voice.
It reminded me of Sunday mornings eating cereals and watching cartoons in a kitchen with faded green walls. The smell of coffee in grandma's french pre
