A faint hum filled the room the sound of machines breathing for me when I couldn't. The sterile white walls blurred and sharpened again as I blinked. The air smelled like antiseptic and metal, and the distant beeping felt like it was echoing inside my skull.
For a long moment, I couldn't move. My body felt foreign heavy, fragile, like glass on the edge of shattering. My heart thudded weakly in my chest, every beat reminding me that I was still here. Still alive.
Then my eyes focused on him.
My father sat slumped in the chair beside my bed, his head resting in his hands. His once-straight shoulders — the same ones that used to carry me on his back when I was little — now sagged under a weight I couldn't see. His face was lined, older, weary.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice rough like sandpaper.
His head jerked up instantly. For a second, his eyes searched mine as if making sure I was real — and when he realized I was, something in him broke. He scrambled to my side, dropping to his knees so fast the chair screeched backward.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, voice trembling. "My daughter, I'm so sorry for everything I've done. Please forgive me…"
Tears spilled down his cheeks — not slow, cinematic tears, but raw, desperate ones. The kind that carry years of regret.
My throat tightened. Watching him like that hurt worse than the needles in my arm.
I wanted to hate him to scream and remind him of every time he wasn't there but all I could feel in that moment was exhaustion.
"Dad, please… get up," I whispered, reaching out weakly. My hand trembled in the air between us.
He didn't move. His voice cracked again.
"I know you hate me, Tess. You have every reason to. But I can't live with what I did with what I didn't do. Please, just let me make it right. I can't turn back time, but please let me try."
The room spun slightly. My breath hitched.
He sounded broken — not like the man who left, but like someone who'd been bleeding on the inside for years.
Before I could stop myself, I reached for him. My arms wrapped weakly around his shoulders. He froze just for a heartbeat and then his arms closed around me so tightly, it hurt.
"I'm sorry, Dad," I whispered against his chest, my voice trembling. "I'm sorry too…"
He held me like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go his body shaking with silent sobs. For a second, the machines faded, the hospital air disappeared, and I was just a little girl again safe in her father's arms, before the world turned cruel.
The door creaked open, and a familiar voice gasped.
"Oh, my goodness Testimony!"
Mrs. Bronco stood there, her hand over her heart, tears streaming freely. The relief in her eyes hit me like sunlight breaking through a storm.
I gently pulled away from my father and reached out to her. She rushed to my side, wrapping me in a warm, motherly embrace that smelled like home like vanilla and comfort and something human in this cold, mechanical room.
"Oh, my child, my sweet girl," she cried, her voice shaking. "You scared us half to death!"
Her tears soaked my hospital gown, and I found myself crying too not from pain, but from the overwhelming rush of love and guilt.
Then another voice filled the doorway, bright and familiar.
"Girl, you know I was worried sick! I almost died!"
Zikhona's laugh echoed as she darted in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She hugged me so hard it made the monitors beep angrily, and we both laughed. For the first time in what felt like forever, I actually laughed.
It felt strange fragile but real like tasting sunlight after living in darkness.
The door opened again, softer this time. The doctor stepped in, her white coat fluttering slightly as she smiled.
"Well," she said gently, "seems my patient has decided to wake up."
Mrs. Bronco chuckled tearfully. "Yes, and we couldn't be happier."
The doctor's expression softened. "She's stable, but still weak. I'll prepare some medication to strengthen her immune system. If all goes well, she can go home soon."
The room brightened with quiet smiles but beneath every smile was that silent shadow none of us could ignore.
My fingers twisted the blanket. "Doctor…" My voice came out softer than I intended. "I still have cancer, don't I?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and cold.
The doctor's eyes met mine. Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then she nodded slowly, her expression full of compassion and sadness the kind that said she'd seen too many endings like mine.