By the Book

Chapter Thirty-Two: Cracking Strength

The hospital room was suffocating, the steady beeps of the monitors punctuating the sterile silence like a heartbeat that wasn't quite his. Dad laid in the bed, pale and fragile in a way that made my stomach twist. The ashen gray of his skin contrasted sharply with the stark white of the sheets, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. The sight of him like this hit me like a punch to the gut.

Tyler stood on one side, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he shifted his weight nervously. His jaw was tight, his eyes darting between Dad and the machines like he was willing them to work harder, faster, better. Ben sat on the edge of a chair, his shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on the floor. His foot bounced against the tiles in a frantic rhythm, the only sound other than the machines filling the room with unbearable tension. Neither of them spoke, but their worry was tangible, hanging in the air like static electricity.

I forced myself to take a step closer to the bed, each movement feeling heavier than the last. "Dad?" My voice came out soft but firm, though the tremor in my chest threatened to bleed into my words.

His eyes fluttered open, the dull blue of his irises struggling to focus in the harsh fluorescent light. He blinked once, twice, before his face softened into something painfully familiar. "Marie," he murmured, his voice scratchy and distant.

The air caught in my lungs. My mother's name.

He thought I was her.

The ache that bloomed in my chest was sharp and immediate, but I swallowed it down, forcing myself to stay steady. "No, Dad," I said gently, stepping closer and reaching out to touch his hand. His skin was cool, the veins standing out against the fragile curve of his knuckles. My fingers curled lightly around his, trying to offer warmth where his own was absent. "It's me. Kara."

His brow furrowed, the confusion settling over his features like a shadow. His lips moved slightly, forming the syllables again, slower this time. "Kara," he repeated, his tone distant, like he wasn't entirely sure.

"It's okay," I said, my voice steady even as the words felt like they might shatter. "I'm here."

Tyler shifted awkwardly at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His lips pressed into a thin line, his composure barely holding. Ben stayed where he was, his foot still bouncing, his head bowing lower as if he could shrink away from the tension. The silence in the room was deafening, pressing against my skin with every shallow breath Dad took.

Miles stood by the door, his presence unobtrusive but solid. He didn't move, didn't speak, but I felt the weight of his gaze on me. He saw it—the way Dad's words hit me, the effort it took to keep my expression neutral. But he didn't say anything, and I was grateful for that.

The door creaked open, breaking the fragile quiet. A doctor stepped inside, his presence quiet but purposeful. He was tall, with kind eyes that lingered too long on Dad before scanning the rest of us. His clipboard was tucked under one arm, a weighty thing that seemed to carry every answer I didn't want to hear.

"Are you all family?" he asked, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

"Yes," I said quickly, stepping forward without hesitation. "We're his kids."

The doctor nodded, his expression shifting into something more clinical, more measured. "I need to speak with someone privately about his condition. Are one of you able to—?"

"I'll do it," I interrupted, the words leaving me before I had a chance to think them through. My chin lifted slightly, an automatic response honed by years of being the one who handled things. "I'm the oldest."

Tyler looked up at me, relief flickering in his eyes, but guilt lingered just beneath it. Ben's knee stopped bouncing, and he glanced my way, his lips parting like he wanted to protest but couldn't bring himself to. Neither of them said a word, and their silence only strengthened my resolve.