MEGAN'S POV
I'm sitting in the stiff hospital chair beside my father's bed, a cup of lukewarm coffee in my hands that I haven't touched in the last twenty minutes.
The morning light leaks through the windows, marking the sterile white walls with soft lines, and the faint beeping of the heart monitor fills the silence between us.
Dad's doing much better now.
There's color back in his cheeks, and his eyes are brighter, more alert. The doctors say he's recovering well, and honestly, it's a relief.
He's sitting up against his pillows, flipping through a magazine someone left for him, but I can tell he's not really reading it.
He keeps glancing at me.
And I keep pretending not to notice.
Because if he asks me what's wrong, I'm going to have to talk about it.
And I don't want to talk a
