By the fifth day, I was helping adjust his pillows.

Caroline noticed.

She always seemed to be nearby, watching.

On the sixth afternoon, she stopped me alone in the hallway.

“You’ve been here six days.”

I looked at her.

“Congratulations. You can count.”

She drummed her fingers against her hip.

“Dad asks for you every time he wakes up.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Really? You show up out of nowhere and suddenly you’re the only one who matters.”

I stared at her.

She pressed a finger against my collarbone.

“What exactly are you expecting when he dies?”

“The same thing I’ve gotten from him my entire life.”

Her expression hardened.

“Which is?”

“NOTHING.”

I walked past her.

That evening, Thomas was worse.

Rain tapped softly against the windows as I sat beside him.

He reached for me.

This time, when he pulled me closer, I let him.

“I know you hate me,” he whispered.

“Sometimes.”

A weak smile touched his mouth.

“Fair.”

Then his expression collapsed.

“Soon you’ll understand everything.”

I pulled back.

“What does that mean?”

His eyes filled.

“Thomas?”

He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

I called for the nurse.

Those were the last words my father ever said to me.

A few hours later, he died.

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