L I A M
After a couple of hours had passed, we were finally allowed to see my father.
He was still unconscious, but the doctor said he was stable. My mom was still at the hospital, refusing to leave his side. I was with her. My uncle had returned to the pack house to handle things there.
The room was quiet, the only sound being the beeping of the machines that were keeping my father alive. I sat by his bed, my hand resting on his, the warmth of his skin providing a small comfort.
He looked pale, his face filled with pain even in sleep. There were bandages on his chest from where he was struck by the knife, and an IV in his arm.
I could see the scars from the battles he had fought, both physical and emotional. He had always been a fighter, a survivor. He had always been my hero.
And
