Hospitals make time slow.
Too slow.
Like every second is dragging its feet.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Even the clock on the wall sounded louder than normal.
Or maybe it was just my heart.
We stood outside the ward.
Room 307.
Just a small brown door.
Nothing special.
But Ethan was staring at it like it was a monster.
Like once he opened it, something would bite him.
His hand was still holding mine.
Tight.
Too tight.
Like if he let go, he might run.
"You don't have to rush," I said quietly.
He nodded.
But didn't move.
His jaw was clenched again.
I noticed he does that when he's trying not to feel something.
"You hate him that much?" I asked softly.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"I don't know if I hate him… or if I just stopped caring."
That one hit deep.
Because sometimes not caring hurts more than hate.
Hate means you still feel something.
But nothing?
Nothing is scary.
"I was twelve," he said suddenly.
His voice low.
"I came back from school. House empty. Thought maybe they went out."
He laughed.
But it wasn't funny.
"That night I found out he moved out. Just like that. No goodbye. Nothing."
My chest tightened.
Who does that to a kid?
"I kept thinking maybe he'd come back," he continued.
"Every time a car stopped outside, I'd run to the window like a fool."
His grip on my hand tightened.
"I waited for months, Mira."
God.
I swear my heart physically hurt.
"I even stopped locking the door at night… in case he came home late."
That broke me.
Completely.
Because I could picture it.
Small Ethan.
Twelve years old.
Pretending to be strong.
Waiting by the window.
Listening for footsteps that never came.
Kids shouldn't carry pain like that.
Ever.
"But he never came," he said simply.
No tears.
No drama.
Just facts.
And somehow that was worse.
"My mom cried every night. I heard her. That's when I decided I'd never depend on anybody again."
He looked at the door.
"So now they're telling me he's asking for me?"
He laughed dryly.
"After ten years?"
Silence sat between us.
Heavy.
Ugly.
Real.
I didn't know what big speech to give.
Didn't know any wise words.
So I just did the only thing that felt right.
I stepped in front of him.
Wrapped my arms around him.
Tight.
He froze.
Like he wasn't used to being hugged first.
Then slowly…
his arms came around me too.
And God.
The way he held me?
Not romantic.
Not cute.
Desperate.
Like he was tired of being strong.
Like he finally allowed himself to rest.
His face buried into my hair.
Warm breath on my neck.
And then…
I felt it.
His shoulders shaking.
Just a little.
Very small.
But I felt it.
Ethan was crying.
Quietly.
No sound.
Just pain leaking out.
And that hurt me more than if he screamed.
So I rubbed his back gently.
"It's okay," I whispered.
Not "don't cry."
Not "be strong."
Just…
it's okay.
Because sometimes that's all someone needs.
Permission to break.
"I hate that he still matters," he said against my shoulder.
"I hate that I still care."
"That's normal," I said softly.
"He's still your dad."
He went quiet.
Then he muttered,
"I don't want to forgive him."
"You don't have to," I said.
He looked at me.
Confused.
"You don't owe anyone forgiveness. Just do what gives you peace."
He stared at me like I just solved math.
Then nodded slowly.
Like something clicked.
After a while, he wiped his face quickly.
Embarrassed.
"Don't tell anyone I cried."
I snorted. "Too late. I've recorded it."
His eyes widened. "Mira—"
"I'm joking, stupid."
He actually smiled.
Small.
But real.
There's my Ethan.
Still there.
Just hiding under all that pain.
He took a deep breath.
Then finally…
reached for the door handle.
Paused.
Looked at me.
"Stay with me."
Not a question.
A need.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
And I meant it.
With everything in me.
As the door slowly opened…
My heart started racing again.
Because something told me this moment?
This meeting?
It was going to change something.
Maybe heal him.
Maybe break him more.
Maybe both.
But either way…
Tonight wasn't just about his father.
It was about the little boy who waited by the window.
And whether he finally gets his closure.
Or another heartbreak.