The ICU waiting room had become their temporary home. Plastic chairs that left indentations in your back, fluorescent lights that never dimmed, and the constant hum of machines keeping people alive just beyond the glass doors.
It had been eighteen hours since her father's seizure. Eighteen hours of doctors speaking in careful, measured tones about "significant brain activity" and "monitoring the situation." Eighteen hours of waiting for news that might never come.
Lily sat curled against Daniel's side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Across from them, Mily dozed fitfully in her chair, designer clothes wrinkled from a night spent in the hospital. Calvin had left hours ago, after the doctors stabilized Richard, but not before pressing something into Lily's hand.
A business card with a phone number written on the back. "In case you need anything," he'd said quietly. "Anything at all."
She'd tucked it into her pocket without looking at it.
