Aria's POV
I stood outside my father's bedroom, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if that might hold me together.
The door is slightly ajar. I can see flashes of white coats, hear low, urgent voices, the rhythmic beeping of machines. Every sound drills into my head, each one reminding me that this, this is real.
My chest aches.
I replay the argument over and over again in my mind. My words. My tone. The look on his face right before he clutched his chest.
I shouldn't have said those things.
I should have listened to my mother.
Even though my father and I clash constantly, I know the truth. He loves us. He loves my sister and me fiercely, even if his way of showing it is flawed, controlling, and heavy-handed. He has always believed that providing and protecting
