Skylar.
Dame, the restaurant where I worked as a sous chef, had just gotten their first Michelin Star because of me.
I had an interview lined up at one of the top restaurants in New York.
If I got the position as head chef, I would’ve been able to create my own signature dishes.
I was on fire and was ticking off one goal after the other. But the higher you fly, the harder you fall.
And boy, did I fall.
Lying in the hospital bed with a dialysis machine humming next to me, I try to process what Dr. Bentall said.
End-stage renal disease. I’m out of time. If I don’t get a transplant soon, I’ll die.
At thirty.
My fabulous life came to a crashing halt three years ago when I was in a car accident with Mom. Mom was in a coma for eight months before we made the heartbreaking decision to take her off life support.
I thought that was the darkest moment of my life, but things just kept getting worse. Dad has flown in the best doctors from around the world and paid so much money, but nothing has worked.
After the car accident, my shattered pelvis healed. My reconstructed bladder is functioning. But the damage done to my kidneys is irreversible. If it weren’t for dialysis, I would’ve died months ago, but now, not even that’s enough.
I need a kidney in the next couple of weeks, or I’ll die. Slowly, my gaze shifts to the tubes filled with my blood.
Twenty minutes ago, Dad left with Dr. Bentall, and I haven’t seen them since.
The past three years have been torturous for me, but it’s been a hell of a lot worse for Dad. He lost Mom, and now he’s going to lose me as well.
Every time I look at him, I see the feverish panic in his eyes. The desperation to find a kidney for me is etched in deep lines on his face.
I hate seeing what my deteriorating health is doing to Dad. I hate that he has to watch me slowly die.
I hate that I’m stuck in this hospital bed, and a machine is fighting to keep me alive.
Is it even worth it?
There are dark moments where I feel it would be better for me to die right now. It would stop the torture, and Dad would be able to mourn my death before going on with his life.
I’m tired of the sword hanging over my head. I’m tired of just existing until my next dialysis.
What is life if it’s not filled with hopes and dreams? What’s left when all possibilities have been stripped from it?
It’s morbid and soul-destroyingly tiring.
I can’t do this anymore.
Movement by the door pulls me out of my dark thoughts, and I lift my eyes to where Dad’s staring at me with excruciating grief already carved into his face.
Unable to wallow in the death blow that I’ve been dealt, I have to be strong for my father.
Somehow a smile curves my lips. “It’s going to be okay, Daddy.” He shakes his head, his red-rimmed eyes welling with tears.
Coming closer, Dad sits down on the side of the bed and takes my hand in both of his. With his head bowed it looks like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
He shakes his head again and clears his throat before his eyes meet mine. For the longest moment, Dad just stares at me as if he’s memorizing every inch of my face.
He clears his throat again, then says, “We’re not giving up. Be strong for a little while longer. Okay?”
I don’t have any strength left, Daddy.
Knowing I can’t speak the words out loud, I lie, “Okay, I will.” From his hopeless expression, I can see he doesn’t believe me.
That’s all we’ve done for the past few months. Lie. Not a single word of truth has passed between us.
I stare at the man who’s raised me as his own. When he met Mom, I was six years old, and not a day has passed where he’s treated me like a stepdaughter.
He’s the best person I know, and I hate seeing him like this.
Unable to keep up the act, tears flood my eyes, and I whisper, “I love you, Daddy.”
He lowers his head and presses a kiss to the back of my hand. His fingers tremble as he tightens his grip on mine.
I let my tears flow, and scared I’ll run out of time and won’t get a chance to say everything that’s in my heart, the truth falls over my lips. “Thank you for being the best father a girl could ask for. Thank you for being everything I needed and taking care of me. Thank you for loving me.”
A wounded sound comes from Dad, and it makes my tears fall faster.
“When I’m gone, I want you to live a beautiful, long life. Fall in love again. You’re not too old to have another child. Live and be happy.”
Dad’s eyes snap to mine with so much anger, then he cries, “Stop talking like that. I’m not letting you die, and I sure as fuck don’t want other kids. I want you, Skylar. You’re my daughter, and no one can take your place.”
Tilting my head, I give him a pleading look. “Daddy.”
He lets go of my hand, and climbing to his feet, he angrily wipes the tears from his cheeks. “You’re not dying.”
Before I can say anything else, he storms out of the hospital room.
God, this is too hard.
How do I say goodbye to my father, knowing he’ll be all alone in this world? How do I ask him to carry on after I’m gone?
I would do anything to save him from the grief and loneliness.