Maia Mesa grew up with her family in Cuba, but that suddenly changed, and she found herself in a position no one wishes to be, without family.
Marcus Burnett, a repentant and good soul takes her as his own daughter, as well his wife Theresa, a new...
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I let escape a sigh full of irritation when I feel something moving, or should I say, someone.
Mike is waking up, having fallen asleep against my shoulder four hours ago. We've been at the hospital for two weeks now, ever since we rushed here after Dad's heart attack. The days had all started to blur together, a routine of hospital visits, check-ins with doctors, and long hours spent by his bedside. I had been juggling the roles of nurse and daughter, caring for him with the same dedication I gave to my patients, but with an added layer of urgency because this was my dad.
During my shifts, I constantly monitored his vitals, adjusted his medications, and made sure he was as comfortable as possible. I couldn't let my guard down, not even for a moment. Every time I checked his pulse or watched the heart monitor, there was a tightness in my chest that I had to push down.
My family and Mike had been there every day, too. We took turns sitting with Dad, holding his hand, and talking to him, even when he was unconscious, hoping he could hear us. The room was always filled with the quiet murmur of their voices, and while it was comforting, it was also a reminder of how serious everything was.
Today is one of my days off, so after finishing my last shift, I stayed here, unwilling to leave Dad's side.
I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess. "Stop moving like that," I mutter, more to myself than to Mike.
But then, Mike's voice cuts through the fog of my exhaustion, urgent and alert. "Marcus is awake."
His words hit me like a jolt of electricity. I'm on my feet in an instant, eyes wide, scanning the room for Dad. My heart skips a beat as I realize the bed—where he's been lying motionless for days—is empty.
"Where is he?" I blurt out, my voice laced with irritation and alarm.
My mind races, scrambling to piece together the situation. How could he have left without me noticing? I wasn't even sleeping—I've been on high alert, ready for any sign of change.
Mike bursts through the door, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "Marcus!" he yells, his voice echoing through the hallway. Without a second thought, he bolts down the corridor, and I sprint after him.
We come to a sudden halt as we see the elevator doors closing with a soft chime. "This guy," Mike mutters under his breath, frustration evident in his tone.
"Let's use the stairs," I suggest urgently, pointing toward the stairwell.
Mike nods, his determination evident as he charges toward the stairs.
Finally, we burst through the door that leads to the roof. The wind howls around us, and I'm momentarily blinded by the gusts. My breath catches as I spot Dad standing precariously on the edge, gazing out at the city below. His stance is rigid, and the sheer drop beneath him is terrifying.
