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I take a deep breath, pushing aside the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. My thoughts drift back to the moments I shared with my mom, her laughter echoes in my mind. I sit on the edge of my dad's bed, and focus on his face. I can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest; it feels like a small glimmer of hope.

"You’ve got to fight, Dad," I whisper. "You can’t leave me too."

The weight of my words presses down on me, but I refuse to let despair consume me. I feel Linda's hand on my shoulder, her presence a comforting reminder that I’m not alone in this. I want to share more stories with my dad, to hear his advice, and to feel his unwavering support once again. Silently, I look at Linda, and we share a brief understanding. This isn't just about grief, it's about finding the strength to move forward, even when the world feels unbearably heavy.

With a renewed determination, I squeeze my dad's hand, willing him to awaken. The anger I feel toward Jack flickers, but it now also fuels a fire to become better, to carry my mom’s legacy forward as a source of strength. I want to transform my pain into purpose, not just for myself, but for my dad too.

“Come back to us, Dad,” I plead. “I need you.”

Linda's sharp gasp pulls me from the swirling thoughts in my mind, and I notice my dad's eyes flutter. Could it be? Is he waking up? Hope surges through me. “Dad, can you hear me?” I whisper, my voice catches as tears begin to spill down my cheeks. “Dad,” I call again, my heart racing.

He lets out a soft moan, faint yet unmistakable. I tenderly stroke his face. “I’m here, Dad,” I reassure him, my voice steady but filled with emotion. His eyes flutter once more before finally opening fully, and a wave of relief washes over me. But that relief soon changes to worry as I see the vacant look in his gaze. I glance over at Linda, my heart heavy with concern. “What’s happening to him?” I ask in a hushed tone, uncertainty creeping into my voice.

“I don’t know, love, but I’ll get the nurse,” she responds, her own worry evident as she leaves the room. Lovingly, I continue to stroke my dad's face, desperate for any sign of recognition. The blank stare is unnerving, making me feel as though his body is awake, yet his mind is lost. All I want to do is to reach him, to bring him back.

Linda returns with a nurse, who immediately begins to apologize for her absence, explaining that she was just taking a short break. I find it hard to focus on her words; my heart is racing, and my only concern right now is for my dad. I step aside to give the nurse space to do her work. She takes his vitals quietly, but her silence is unsettling. After a moment, she informs me that she will be getting a doctor, and then she leaves.

A wave of anxiety washes over me, something isn’t right, and deep down, I can sense it. It feels like all the air has been knocked out of my lungs. I’m struggling to understand what’s happening. Why wouldn’t she share anything with me? My breaths come in shallow gasps, and a tingling sensation begins to creep up my arms. I feel overwhelmed and helpless. Turning my gaze back to my dad, he appears unchanged, distant, as if he’s a million miles away. A surge of desperation wells up inside me, and I can't contain my frustration any longer. “Why is he like this?” I cry out. “What the fuck is the matter with him?” Linda rushes over to my side, attempting to get me to sit. I shove her away, “No…No…No…,” I scream, before my vision blurs, gradually fading.

I jolt awake, feeling droplets of water on my face. Confusion washes over me. “Raine, love,” a gentle voice calls to me.

“Linda, what happened?” I ask, attempting to shake off the fog.

“You passed out in panic. How are you feeling?” she asks, concern etched across her face. I glance around, realizing I’m on the floor. Slowly, I attempt to rise, but Linda gently pushes me back down. “Take it easy, love, just breathe slowly.”

With her support, I take a few deep breaths, and allow the air to fill my lungs, then I gradually get up. Linda guides me to sit in a chair. She hurries away for a moment, returning with a glass of water. “Just little sips,” she instructs, her tone firm, but kind.

By the time I finish the water, the doctor has arrived. We are told to wait outside while he tends to my dad. Linda and I sit in the garden, the sunlight breaks through the trees as a gentle breeze rustles the leaves. Though I still feel a bit disoriented, the peaceful surroundings are a calmness for my uneasy heart. I lean back in the chair, allowing the soothing atmosphere to cradle me.

The doctor has been inside with my dad for what feels like an eternity, forty-five minutes to be exact. During that time, I found myself wandering the garden twice and making three trips to the bathroom. I couldn't seem to settle.

Finally, the doctor emerges, and my heart sinks as he explains my dad’s condition. He says my dad’s vitals are stable, and he’s technically awake, but he might be suffering from locked-in syndrome, a cruel reality where he can neither move nor speak. He can blink and open his eyes, that’s it. They promise more answers will come after further tests, but it feels hollow and distant to me.

Completely ignoring the doctor’s harrowing words, I make my way past him, fearfulness urging me toward my dad. Ever so carefully, I climb onto the bed beside him, resting my head against his chest. I close my eyes, listening intently to the rhythm of his heartbeat. I need to know that my dad is still here with me, fighting in his own way.