He wheeled himself to the side of my bed. The effort left him panting, the oxygen hissing softly through his nasal cannula.
“Dad,” I gasped, trying to sit up, but the pain forced me back into the mattress. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. The nurses—”
He held up a trembling hand, silencing me. He reached out and wrapped his cold, rough fingers around my hand. When I looked into his eyes, they were brimming with tears. I had never seen my father cry. Not when his own parents died, not when the stock market crashed. But here, in the dead of night, tears carved clean tracks through the stubble on his cheeks.
“I see you, Alice,” he whispered, his voice cracking with a profound, earth-shattering grief. “I’ve always seen you. I saw how they treated you. I saw what they did today… staying up there, leaving you down here to suffer alone.”