𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐩

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔈𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

The first thing I saw when my eyes fluttered open was my dad's worried face hovering above me. The second he noticed me regaining consciousness, he grabbed my hand and stuck his head toward my face. I sunk deeper into my pillows in surprise. I regained my sleepy look and asked softly, "Are you an angel sent from heaven here to take me home?"

I would have said, 'Mom? Is that you?' but even I wasn't that cruel.

A look of horror overcame my dad's features. A hand pushed him out of my line of vision, and Theo's head replaced my dad's.

"Don't scare him like that. Poor dude was weeping like a baby since he arrived," he said. His face suddenly grew serious. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Tell you what?"

"That Daniel B. Adair is your bloody father," he hissed.

I blinked. "What?"

He turned his face away and ran a hand down his face. "I really didn't see this plot twist coming..." he murmured.

My dad came back into view and pulled me into a hug. "You had me so worried, Lumi," he whispered.

I winced as his arms tightened around the bruises on my arms. I didn't get to see my dad very often, so instead of speaking, I slipped my arms around him in return.

Something dripped onto my shoulder and it took me a minute to realize it was a tear. I knew it wasn't mine, so it must have been my dad's.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dry again. He looked as though he were about to say something, but he didn't. He sat on the hospital bed, reaching for my hand and enveloping my small one in his much larger one. "Please don't scare me like that again," he said quietly.

I could imagine the memories resurfacing in his mind: An urgent call from the hospital, blinding fear, desperation as his entire being focused on one thing and one thing alone.

Her.

I imagined this situation was similar. Except I'm not going to die.

Daddy, I'm not going to die.

I placed my free hand on his and said, "I'm fine, Daddy. Okay? You don't have to worry about me. I don't plan on giving up that easily."

His eyes trailed away from mine and landed on the door. "Get some rest, Striker."

I smiled at the familiar nickname and nodded. He released my hand and pulled the thin hospital blanket up to my chin as I sunk further into the bed—just like he had done when I was little. He gently kissed my forehead. Then he dragged Theo out of the room, giving me a soft smile before pulling the door closed.

Four months.

That's how long it's been since I last saw my father.

It had been my birthday then, a birthday so like the others. As though it were tradition, I watched Pink Panther until the sun went up, his wordless actions speaking so much louder than words.

I used to smile and laugh at his silly jokes, sometimes pretending I myself was the pink feline.

But when morning came and my dad still wasn't home, those unrealistic actions the panther made would feel like a pathetic excuse for entertainment.

But every year I would watch it like a comfort blanket I was too old to cuddle with.

When I woke up, it was still light outside, although the color flooding into the room was changing carefully, the beginning of the sun's final farewell until tomorrow.