Blessing in Disguise (MM)

Chapter One

ARIS' POV

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"How is he today?" I ask Trina, a nurse who works at my father's care home.

Her brown eyes soften and I know exactly what that look means. The creases around her face dip, flashing me a sympathetic smile. "He's been better," she admits.

I'd rather her tell me the truth than going in there with bundles of optimism. I've been shattered to pieces one to many times, now I like to try and understand how well he is before assuming.

"Has he been eating?"

Trina nods once. "Yes. He even sat and ate whilst watching one of his favourite shows. Even remembered some of the lines which is good to see. Although he seemed a little confused this morning, so maybe take it easy with him today."

My heart clenches in my chest at her words but I plaster a fake smile across my face. "Sure, of course. Thank you, Trina."

"How have you been, Aris?" She places a hand on my arm and I glance down at it.

I clear my throat. "I've been alright," I speak quietly. "Just busy working away at the cafe. Not much else to be honest."

She presses her lips together in a soft smile. "Your father is so lucky to have you."

"Thanks," I exhale even though I don't feel like it.

I wish I could do more to help with his Alzhimers but it's hard when you earn next to nothing and you've got to keep a roof over your own head and food on your plate. It's been a rough couple of years but I power through. I have to, he's the last person I want to let down.

Trina steps to the side and I walk down the hall into the communal area. I scan the room to find my father reading an old magazine in the corner of the room. Pressure builds up behind my eyes when I see him because I never know how this is going to go.

Some days he knows who I am, others I might as well be a stranger on the street.

It's one of the most painful things to ever experience. The thought of him losing his own memories. It crushes me to pieces.

I suck in a breath and push off the floor, walking straight towards him. I don't bombard him, I pull up a chair beside him and sit. He doesn't look away from his magazine for a good minute, instead I just watch him with a soft smile.

Being close to him is good enough–sometimes.

No one wants to see their parents deteriorate right in front of them and knowing that there isn't anything you can do. It's a new form of torture that keeps you up at night making you wish you could change things you can't even control.

My father, Peter, lowers his magazine and stares me directly in the face. He has the same dark blue eyes as me. He's greying slightly on his head but the dark strands are still clear. When I think of my dad, I don't even think he's old. He's in his late fifties and has become a victim to this horrible disease. In my eyes, he's still young.

"Hello," he says, placing the magazine onto the coffee table.

The corners of my lips lift. "Hi. How are you doing today?"

"Fine. But the coffee was a bit cold earlier and now they refuse to make me a new one because apparently I never drink it." He grumbles and I keep smiling because that sounds like my dad, always has something to moan about. "Maybe if they kept the coffee hot, people wouldn't complain. I'm not the only one, you know? Dorothy thinks so too."

"I'm sorry the coffee isn't up to scratch, dad."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Dad?"

My throat tenses at the uncertainty in his voice. "I'm your son. Aris."