𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝑰𝒏 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 33

The day felt ordinary. I’d just finished a study session at college, the familiar rush of cramming before finals lingering in my mind. As I walked home, the late afternoon sun cast a gentle glow over everything, painting the streets with a warmth that felt almost comforting. I thought about Papa—I had so much to tell him. He was always the first to hear every little triumph, every frustration, every dream. He was my best friend in the world, the person who’d always been there, no matter what.

For as long as I could remember, Papa had been my rock. He was the one who celebrated my victories, no matter how small. He was the one who’d come into my room late at night, bringing tea and sitting on the edge of my bed, listening to me ramble on about school, life, my fears. He always knew just what to say to make things feel okay.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, expecting to hear his voice calling out to me. Usually, he’d be in the kitchen by this time, ready with one of his spontaneous snack ideas, waiting to ask about my day. But the house was silent, an unfamiliar stillness that settled over everything. My keys clinked onto the side table with an echo that felt wrong, too loud.

“Papa?” I called out, my voice carrying into the emptiness. No answer.

I tried to brush off the nagging feeling in my stomach, convincing myself that he’d just stepped out or was in his room catching up on sleep. He’d been gone for days, on one of his so-called “business trips,” but even as he left, I’d seen something different in his eyes. He’d been drained, tired in a way I couldn’t put into words. I didn’t ask him why—I’d wanted to, but I held back. He always came back, after all. He always bounced back.

I climbed the stairs slowly, my feet heavy on each step. His bedroom door was slightly ajar, a thin line of daylight cutting through the darkness inside. I pushed it open, letting it swing slowly, and there he was—lying on the bed, still and quiet in a way that didn’t feel right.

“Papa?” My voice trembled, my hands starting to shake as I moved closer. He didn’t move. My heart pounded faster, each beat filling my ears until I could barely think. I scanned around to find empty pill bottles on the bottom of the bed.  "Dad… wake up. Please." My voice broke. “Papa?”

I stood frozen, the world crashing down around me as I reached for his hand. It felt cold, unfamiliar. He looked like he was sleeping, but something deep inside me knew the truth, a truth too painful to accept.

“Papa… please,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out. I could feel my legs starting to give way, my knees buckling beneath me as I fell beside him, clutching his hand as if I could bring him back, as if I could pull him from wherever he’d gone.

I remembered every late-night conversation, every comforting word he’d ever given me, each one hitting me like a wave. I was drowning in the memories—the time he taught me to ride a bike, his laughter when I’d toppled over into the grass; the way he’d cheered me on during every school play, his face lighting up with pride; the quiet moments when he’d held me through my worst days, telling me I was stronger than I knew.

“Please…” The word slipped from my lips, quieter this time, lost in the stillness that filled the room. My chest ached, my heart breaking in a way I didn’t think was possible. I didn’t know how to do this, how to let him go, how to face a world without him by my side.

I startled awake to find tears drying on my cheeks. I am quickly wiped them away as I recalled where I was and what was happening.

I sat by Chloé’s bedside, holding her hand, counting each shallow breath she took. The doctors had explained that she'd fainted from exhaustion and dehydration, likely due to pushing herself too hard. But there was something else, a lingering worry I couldn’t shake—something unspoken between us since this whole mess began.