Hearts Anointed

12

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Inside the ICU, the air was cool and eerily quiet, save for the steady rhythm of machines. Fayrouz pushed the door to her father's room gently. Sitting in the corner, Halima looked poised in her emerald-green lace outfit and meticulously tied scarf. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes carried an almost clinical watchfulness.

Halima stood as Fayrouz entered, her movements deliberate. "Fayrouz," she said, her tone carrying a practiced warmth. "You made it."

"I did," Fayrouz replied, her voice calm and even. She set her bag down on a table, meeting Halima's gaze without flinching.

Halima's eyes lingered on her for a moment, assessing. "It must've been a long trip."

"It was manageable," Fayrouz said, brushing off the implied concern.

Halima offered a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, we didn't know if you'd come. I suppose your father's condition made that decision easier."

Fayrouz's expression didn't change, but her voice sharpened slightly. "I came because it's the right thing to do."

Halima tilted her head, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. "Of course. He'll appreciate seeing you—when he wakes up."

Fayrouz glanced toward the bed, her father's frail form almost unrecognizable. She exhaled slowly, willing herself to remain composed.

"How is he?" she asked, her tone neutral.

Halima followed her gaze, folding her arms loosely across her chest. "He's stable for now. But the doctors aren't giving any guarantees."

Fayrouz nodded, keeping her emotions tightly reined in. "Thank you for letting me know."

Halima arched a brow, her lips curving slightly. "I thought it was the least I could do."

The words hung in the air, heavy with subtext. Fayrouz turned her gaze back to Halima, her voice steady. "And I appreciate it."

Halima studied her for a moment, as though weighing whether to say more. Finally, she gestured toward the chair by the bed. "You can sit with him. He's been asking for you, you know."

Fayrouz walked past her stepmother without a word, pulling the chair closer to the bed. She sat down, her eyes fixed on her father's face. His labored breaths and pale complexion stirred something in her, but she refused to let the emotion show.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Halima said from behind her. Her voice was light, but Fayrouz could sense the lingering tension.

"Thank you," Fayrouz said, her tone polite but firm.

Halima paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle. "He's been through a lot, Fayrouz. Maybe this is a chance to... put things in perspective."

Fayrouz glanced at her, her expression calm but resolute. "Perhaps it is."

Halima's lips twitched, as though she wanted to say more, but she merely nodded and stepped out. The door clicked shut, leaving Fayrouz alone with her father and the steady hum of the machines.

She stared at the man lying on the hospital bed, her fingers gripping the chair's armrests. His face looked so calm, so peaceful, as though incapable of the anger and manipulation that had once cast a shadow over her childhood. His once formidable presence was now reduced to this fragile, almost lifeless figure.

Memories flickered in her mind: the booming voice that used to fill their home, the intimidating stare that could silence a room. He had always seemed larger than life, untouchable. Now, he looked small, almost frail. She wondered if this was how all powerful men ended up, their strength eroded by time and consequence.

Fayrouz exhaled slowly. In her therapy training, she had learned how to observe without judgment, to separate actions from the person committing them. It wasn't easy now, sitting here, applying those principles to her own father.

She had learned that pain often shaped people in ways they couldn't control. She had spent years untangling the mess his choices had made of her life, telling herself that understanding didn't mean excusing. But now, looking at him, she wasn't sure how much of her resentment still mattered.

His face twitched slightly in his sleep, and she noticed lines on his forehead she hadn't seen before. They softened him, made him seem more human than the untouchable figure she'd grown up fearing.

A bitter thought crossed her mind—he looked like someone who couldn't hurt anyone now. But the scars he had left behind didn't fade so easily.

She clasped her hands in her lap, her gaze still fixed on him. "You're the one who should be sorry," she murmured under her breath.

The beeping of the machines continued, steady and unrelenting, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside her. Fayrouz leaned back in the chair, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. She didn't know what she would say to him when he woke up, but for now, she could sit here and face the reality of the man who had once seemed invincible.

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