Someday, Someway

A daughter's dillema

The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in Lorraine Martino's office. She sat behind her desk, her fingers tapping absently on the surface as she reviewed a stack of reports. The day had been long, filled with back-to-back meetings, deadlines, and the endless stream of responsibilities that came with running her department. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast a golden glow through the large windows, but Lorraine barely noticed.

Her phone buzzed on the corner of the desk, its vibration startling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting another mundane notification. But when she saw the name flashing across the display—Aunt Marge—a knot of unease twisted in her stomach.

She picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear. "Aunt Marge? Is everything okay?"

There was a pause on the other end, and the weight of it immediately made Lorraine's heart race. Then came the words that she hadn't expected but had always feared.

"Lorraine," her aunt's voice was strained, trembling with worry, "it's your father. David had a heart attack. He's been rushed to the hospital."

The room seemed to tilt for a moment, and Lorraine gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself. "What? How bad is it?"

"They're still running tests, but it's serious. You need to come now."

The rest of the conversation blurred as panic tightened Lorraine's chest. She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag and keys in a flurry of movement. "I'm coming. Tell them I'll be there as soon as I can."

The drive to the hospital was a blur of traffic lights and honking cars. Lorraine's mind raced faster than the car, memories of her father flashing through her mind like a fragmented reel. David Martino—her complicated, often distant father. Their relationship had always been strained, but that didn't make this any easier.

Arriving at St. Luke's Medical Center, she barely registered the cold sterility of the hospital lobby as she rushed toward the ICU. Her heels clacked loudly against the polished floors, but the sound did little to drown out the pounding of her heart.

As she reached the nurses' station, she was directed to her father's room. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the low hum of machines greeted her as she pushed through the door. David lay in the hospital bed, his face pale, tubes snaking from his arms and chest to the nearby monitors.

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. Despite everything—despite the years of arguments, misunderstandings, and the emotional distance—seeing her father like this made her feel small, like the little girl who had once idolized him.

She took a deep breath and moved to his bedside. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but steady. Lorraine reached out and hesitated for a moment before gently placing her hand over his. It felt strange to touch him after so many years of being apart, but she needed to be there, needed him to know she was present.

"Dad," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm here."

There was no response, but she stayed there, her hand resting on his as she struggled to keep the tears at bay. Her mind whirled with questions, with fears. What if he didn't make it? What if she never had the chance to repair their fractured relationship?

The door behind her opened, and the sound of heels against the floor made Lorraine turn. Her mother, Krystal, walked in, her expression carefully neutral. Lorraine wasn't surprised to see her—despite their divorce, Krystal and David had always remained connected, if only by the shared responsibility of being Lorraine's parents.

Krystal's eyes flicked to David's still form before settling on Lorraine. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—concern, perhaps—but it was quickly replaced by the familiar coolness that Lorraine had grown used to.