Chapter 49 Against The Sheets

Chapter 49 Against The Sheets
“Abby?” the nurse said.

My head snapped toward her so quickly my neck almost ached. “Yes?” My voice came out softer than I intended, thin from everything Nina had just thrown at me.

“Your father is asking for you,” the nurse said.

For a second, everything inside me stilled. My heart, my fear, even the trembling in my fingers… all of it paused—like my body couldn’t quite process the relief and terror tangled together. He was awake. Awake enough to ask for me. Something warm surged up my throat, almost a sob, almost guilt, almost hope—I couldn’t tell anymore.

Then Nina’s voice slithered in, breaking the moment. “Oh, he’s awake? Maybe we could go see him together…” She said it with this polished imitation of concern, like she’d practiced the tone in the mirror but couldn’t get the sincerity right. Her face didn’t match her voice—that same sharpness lingered in her eyes, like she was calculating the next move of a game only she understood.

Before I could open my mouth—whether to protest or outright tell her no—the nurse stepped in.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to give them some privacy, Mrs. Nina,” she said firmly, her expression polite but immovable. She gestured for me to follow her toward the VIP room.

The look on Nina’s face shifted so fast it made my chest tighten. A flicker of annoyance. Of loss of control. Of something dangerous beneath the surface. I felt her stare on the back of my neck, heavy enough to make me swallow hard.

But my feet were already moving. The corridor suddenly felt colder, quieter, like even the fluorescent lights had dimmed. My palms were damp, my steps unsteady, and I kept trying to breathe evenly, but everything inside me was trembling—fear for my father, dread of what condition he was in, and a suffocating sense of being pulled into something darker than I understood.

Still, I followed the nurse.

I didn’t look back at Nina.
I was too afraid of what expression I might see on her face if I did.

Once I stepped inside the room, the air felt different—thicker somehow, warmer, heavy with the sterile scent of disinfectants and the soft hum of medical machines. But all I saw… all I could focus on… was him.

My father.

My chest clenched as I walked closer, each step feeling like it was pulling a string inside my heart tighter and tighter. He looked smaller against the white sheets, fragile in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Monitors blinked beside him, wires traced along his arms, and for a moment, guilt hit me so hard I could barely breathe.

“Dad…” I whispered, my voice breaking before I even reached his bedside.

His eyes fluttered open—slowly, like it took effort—and when they landed on me, something inside me shattered. He lifted his hand weakly, then opened his arms just a little, a silent invitation that made my throat burn.

“Abby…” he croaked, his voice rough and barely there, but the sound of it carried every bit of the love I’d been terrified of losing.

I leaned down and wrapped my arms around him gently, terrified I might hurt him, but desperate to hold onto him. His arm came around me—thin, trembling—and for the first time in a long while, I felt like a child again, clinging to the only constant I’d ever had.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my words tumbling out in pieces. “I didn’t know you’d collapsed. I should have been there by your side… I—”

The rest of the sentence dissolved into tears. They slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them, dripping onto his hospital gown. I tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming, faster, harder, like everything I’d been holding in for weeks had suddenly split open.

I hated how weak I sounded. I hated that he had to see me like this. But more than anything… I hated myself for not being there when he needed me most.

“I should’ve been there,” I whispered again, my voice shaking. “I’m so, so sorry, Dad.”

His weak hand found mine, squeezing with whatever strength he had left… and I held on like that touch was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

We stayed like that for a long while—him lying weakly against the pillows, me holding his hand like letting go meant losing him all over again. The room was quiet except for the low beeping of the monitors and the faint shuffle of nurses outside, but inside my chest… everything was loud. Fear. Relief. Shame. All tangled together like knots I couldn’t undo.

At some point he pulled back just enough to look at me properly. There was something soft in his expression, something familiar—fatherly concern, even though he was the one fighting for his life. But then it shifted. His eyes dropped. His shoulders slumped a little. A sadness crept over his face so quietly I almost didn’t catch it, but once I did, a sinking feeling stirred in my stomach.

“Dad?” I whispered, tightening my grip on his hand. “What’s wrong?”

He breathed out slowly, like the words were heavy before he even released them. His lips parted, then closed again. For a moment I thought he might change his mind, or that he was in pain, but then he finally spoke—voice low, regret clogging every syllable.

“I should have listened to you,” he said. “When you protested against me marrying a second wife…”

My breath caught. The air felt thinner, cold somehow. Hearing him say that—now, like this—hit something deep in me. Something that had been bruised for years and never fully healed.

I blinked at him, unable to speak right away. His eyes looked glossy, as if he had been holding this in for a long time, and it made something twist painfully in my chest.

“Dad…” I murmured, my voice small. “You don’t have to—”

But he shook his head weakly, stopping me.

The truth in his expression was too raw, too real, and it scared me more than anything Nina had ever said. Hearing regret from him—my father, the man who always stood firm in his decisions—felt like the ground had tilted under my feet.

I swallowed hard, my throat burning as guilt, anger, and sorrow all clawed their way up inside me. My fingers tightened around his as if holding him could somehow make the moment easier, or undo all the damage that had already happened.

I wasn’t ready for where this conversation was headed.

I wasn’t ready to hear what came next.

But I also couldn’t bring myself to pull away.