Chapter 7

SASHA'S POV

I shook my father softly, my heart racing. “Dad, please wake up. I need you.” Tears streamed down my face as I clutched his hand, feeling the coldness of his skin seep into me.

It was surreal, this sterile hospital room, the beeping of machines, and the looming shadow of doubt. How could this be happening?

“Please,” I begged, my voice barely above a whisper. “You promised you’d always be here for me.” His eyelids stayed shut, unresponsive, and with each passing second, a new wave of fear crashed over me. My chest felt tight as I fought against the sadness that threatened to engulf me.

I leaned in closer, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face. “You need to wake up. I’m really in a bit of a mess here. I don’t know what to do without you.” My voice cracked, and I hid my face in the crook of his arm, letting the sobs wrack my body.

Time seemed to stretch forever as I clung to his hand. I wanted to scream, to shake him awake, but deep down, I knew that wouldn’t work.

My tears soaked into his sleeve, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him back. After what felt like a lifetime, I finally stood up, forcing myself to take a step back. The sight of him lying there, so still, was a stab to my heart.

“I’ll be back, I promise,” I mumbled, though I didn’t know when or if that would even be true. I waved goodbye to him, my heart heavy as I turned away, knowing that I might be leaving him for longer than I could bear.

As I stepped out of the hospital, the world outside felt strangely normal. The bright sunlight washed over me, oblivious to the storm building within.

I walked slowly to my car, each step dragging as if the weight of my sadness had turned me into lead. I slumped into the driver’s seat and stared out through the window, my vision blurred by tears.

The drive home was a blur. I don’t remember the way; my mind was too consumed with thoughts of my father. Would he wake up? Would things go back to the way they were?

The truth of my situation began to sink in deeper with every mile I drove. When I finally parked the car and walked into the house, the silence enveloped me like a heavy blanket.

I closed the door behind me, the click ringing in the empty space. “Dad?” I called out, but the only answer was the utter quiet.

My heart ached as I walked through the house, a place that had once felt so warm and welcome now seemed desolate. Memories danced in front of my eyes—my father laughing in the kitchen, his voice booming as he told stories from his youth.

I stumbled into the living room and fell onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. The tears came again, shaking my body with sobs. “I wish you were here,” I cried, the emptiness inside me growing until it felt like I was being hollowed out. “I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how.”

The walls of the house reflected back my sorrow, amplifying my feelings of isolation. I felt so lost without my father, the one person who always knew how to help me through the darkest times.

I picked up my phone, scrolling through my contacts, hoping for a glimmer of someone who could lead me through this chaos. But as I looked at the names, they all felt like strangers, like people I didn’t know how to reach out to.

“Why does this have to happen?” I mumbled, throwing my phone onto the couch in frustration. I paced around the room, each step filled with a restless energy that raced through my veins.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second mocking my anxiety as it counted down the moments my father was missing.

I glanced up at the clock, its thick frame making it look even more imposing. 3:15 PM. How could time move so slowly? I gritted my teeth, willing it to hurry along, to get me to a time where everything made sense again.

I caught my image in the mirror across the room. My eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with remains of tears. I looked like a mess, a ghost of the person I used to be.

“Get it together, Sasha,” I whispered to myself, shaking my head in a futile attempt to clear my thoughts. I knew I had to stay strong, but the weight of the doubt was suffocating.

What if Dad never woke up? The thought curled around my mind like a vine, strengthening its grip until I could hardly breathe. I had always leaned on him, and now he was gone.

I felt like I was standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down into a chasm of hopelessness. What was I going to do without him?

As I paced back and forth, my thoughts spun. I could hear the echoes of our last conversations, the laughter, the advice he had given me about life and love, the support he had showered upon me.

“You can do anything you set your mind to, Sasha,” he would say, his eyes sparkling with hope. I wanted to believe him, but how could I when the person who believed in me most was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life?

Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t let fear control me. My father wouldn’t want that. He always taught me to face difficulties head-on, to be brave even when the world felt dark.

I took a big breath, letting the air fill my lungs, grounding myself in that moment. I had to find a way to be strong for him, to channel the power he had given me all these years.

“Okay,” I said aloud, feeling a rush of determination rise within me. “I’ll be strong for you, Dad. I’ll figure this out.” The words felt like a promise, a lifesaver thrown into the storm of my thoughts.

I turned back toward my bedroom, the familiar confusion of my room welcoming me as I entered. I needed a plan. I needed to gather my thoughts, to focus on something other than my stress. Pacing back and forth again, I allowed myself to think of what my next steps would be.

“I’ll start with the hospital,” I murmured, my mind racing through the details of his medical state, the conversations with the doctors I had barely paid attention to. “I’ll ask questions, find out what I need to do.”

With each step, I began to feel a little lighter, a little more in charge. I might not have all the answers, but I would find them. My father had always been my rock, and now it was my turn to be his.

The clock continued to tick away, but this time, it felt like a countdown to a new beginning, a chance to fight for the man who had fought for me my entire life.