VINCENT
The next morning, I prepared breakfast, grateful for the routine. The eggs were scrambled exactly how she used to like them. The toast cut diagonally. Fresh fruit arranged on the plate. A glass of milk because she needed the calcium.
Normal things that a father would do for his daughter.
I would be that person.
I entered her room with the tray, and she was already awake. But her eyes were staring at nothing.
She didn’t even acknowledge my presence, or turn her head when I walked in.
I set the tray on the nightstand as quietly as I could.
“Sit up and eat,” I said. My voice came out firmer, almost harsh. “I don’t want to call the doctors again.”
I knew she hated the doctors. She would do almost anything to avoid them coming back with their needles and their tests and their c
