Chris had never been afraid of hospitals before, but as he stepped into his father's room, he felt a fear so deep it was almost suffocating.
A line of doctors stood inside, their presence both reassuring and intimidating. His mother was there too, looking like a ghost of herself—tired, frail, barely holding on. But the moment his father's eyes opened and landed on him, everything else faded.
His father whispered what sounded like his name. His voice was hoarse, weaker than he'd ever heard it. "Are you…?" His tired eyes took in the hospital gown Chris was wearing, the IV marks on his arm. "Why... are you dressed like that?"
His voice was almost inaudible. But Chris heard it.
Chris' throat tightened. A lump formed, heavy and painful. He felt like a child again—small, helpless, desperate to hold onto the moment.
Even though his father was the one who looked like that, yet, he was concerned about it.
He had really taken a lot for granted.
