My hands were still trembling as Clifford drove us to the hospital. My heart is beating so loudly against my chest as I think about the possible things that could have happened to my father. Well, sure, I don’t have any moments with him because he hasn’t really been a father to me. But there is still a big part of me that hurts to know that he’s suffering right now.
Clifford reached for my hand on my lap and gave it a little squeeze. I looked at him and saw him looking straight on the road. I bit the insides of my cheeks as I slowly laced my fingers with his and held his hand tightly. The sides of his lips rose at my move and it made me feel better.
Our son is sleeping at the back of the car, probably tired from playing the whole day.
Only the sound of the mellow music on the radio co
