The beeping machines in the ICU hummed a haunting lullaby, syncing with the fragile breaths of Mr. Kane. His frail chest rose and fell like a soft ripple in still water, his face pale, skin cold, and his lips parted just enough to whisper a name through the heavy silence.
“…Melissa…”
The name barely passed his lips—fragile, broken, more breath than voice—but it was enough. Enough for Melissa, who had just stepped into the ICU, her breath catching in her throat at the sound she’d longed to hear since morning.
“Daddy,” she whispered, rushing to his side.
Her heels clacked softly on the tile as she moved to his bed. In one swift motion, she sank to the edge of it, taking his trembling hand into both of hers. It felt cold. Too cold. She squeezed it gently, willing her warmth into his skin.
