𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝? || ᴿᵃⁿᵇᵒᵒ

𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢-𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

'𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢/
𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚢/
𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚏 𝙸
𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎/
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚎/ 

Y/N's POV - Second Person

!!CW!! | profanity, a tragic incident,
the second stage of grief

Nathan finds a spot near the entrance of the hospital. The moment he parks, you jump out of the car and race to the building.

You run up to the front desk. "My father," you gasp out. You hear Nathan's quick steps behind you.

The receptionist immediately recognizes you. "Fourth floor, room 404."

You thank him and hurry to the elevator. Once you got to floor four, you veer left to room 404.

A doctor had just stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He looked up when he heard you and Nathan's footsteps.

"Ah, Y/N," he greets solemnly. "Your mother is inside." He holds the door open for you.

You were about to step in, but you hesitate, remembering Nathan. You turn to him.

He was looking down at you in understanding. "Go ahead," he urges you. "I'll be outside the door, waiting."

You hug him. "Thank you," you whisper into his chest. With that, you turn around and enter the room.

Inside was a simple hospital room, exactly as you remembered it. White sterile floors, walls and ceiling, reeking of ammonia and hand sanitizer. The only splash of color was a vase of pale blue forget-me-not flowers on a nightstand beside the hospital bed.

Sitting next to the hospital bed was mother. She didn't seem to notice you were there. Her hands were intertwined with the man on the bed.

He was covered with tubes leading to blood and nutrition bags and life support. On the crook of his arm was a device that looped over to a black and white screen that showed his pulse, which was concerningly slow. 

You walk slowly to stand beside mother, and you look at your dad's face.

Under the oxygen mask, his face looked like it had aged a decade. Only a year ago did you remember his tanned, glowing face with smile lines, even if he couldn't remember all that well. Now his complexion is pale and gaunt, stretched with strain. His eyes were nearly bloodshot, and they were milky and fixed into the distance, drained from the light they once had.

Mother noticed you beside her, and she patted the seat next to her, motioning you to sit down. You sit and reach for your dad's hands. It was as cold as the room.

"Hey, dad," you say lightly. He stirs a bit. "It's me, Y/N, your daughter."

He doesn't answer. The beeping of his heart on the monitor continues.