Kayla
I couldn’t believe it. After two years of sitting by his bedside, holding his lifeless hand, speaking to him without any response…
My father was finally awake.
A sob escaped my throat as I threw myself forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and practically crushing him against me. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent that even years of hospital antiseptic couldn’t completely erase.
“Careful,” the doctor cautioned behind me. “He’s still very weak.”
I loosened my grip slightly but couldn’t bring myself to let go. Not yet. Not when I’d waited so long for this moment.
My father’s arms—thinner and weaker than I remembered—slowly came up to encircle me. His hands trembled as they stroked my hair.
“My Kayla,” he murmured, his
