ARIA
The front door creaked softly as I stepped into the tiny apartment, exhaustion dragging behind me like a shadow. I shut the door gently so I wouldn't wake Dad though, deep down, I hoped he was awake. I needed his calm voice more than I cared to admit.
The scent of antiseptic mixed with worn leather and faint traces of lavender the smell of my childhood home, now laced with grief and a slow countdown. I slipped off my shoes, toes aching from the long shift Dalton has been making my life a living hell lately. I quietly padded toward his room.
He was lying there, frail against the pillows, a shadow of the man I once thought was invincible. His eyes fluttered open, finding mine through the dim light.
"You're late," he rasped, his voice hoarse but teasing.
I forced a smile. "I had to survive a few entitled latte drinkers. You wouldn't believe the drama that unfolds over almond milk."
He chuckled weakly. "Almond milk? What happened to good ol' dairy?"
"Too ordinary, apparently," I said, kneeling beside him and checking the timer on his medication. "You need to take these now."
He sighed but obediently opened his mouth. I offered him a sip of water, watching his hands tremble as he gripped the cup. My heart clenched. He was weaker. Noticeably weaker.
"Dad…" I hesitated. "Are you okay? You look… tired."
"I'm just a little worn out, honey. It's nothing to worry about."
But it was. Everything about him screamed worry.
I helped him sit up as gently as I could and propped pillows behind his back.
"You don't have to fuss over me," he murmured.
"Too late," I whispered.
After settling him, I tiptoed out, tackling the growing mountain of laundry. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but routines kept me sane. If I didn't keep moving, I'd collapse under the weight of it all.
By the time the dishes were clean, and clothes hung up to dry, I headed for a quick shower. Steam fogged the mirror as I leaned against the tiled wall, letting the water mask my silent tears. There wasn't enough hot water in the world to wash away the helplessness building inside me.
When I stepped out, towel wrapped around me, I found Dad dozing off again. But he stirred when the scent of dinner wafted through the apartment simple pasta and garlic bread, cheap but warm.
I took it to dad who was sitting up with obvious struggle.
"Dinner is served, Mr.Davis, I said lightly trying to smile.
He chuckled hoarsely. "You were always the dramatic one."
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the TV murmuring quietly in the background.
He smiled faintly but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I wish you didn't have to drop out."
I shrugged. "Dad you needed me. That decision wasn't hard."
"You look tired, Aria."
"I am," I admitted staring at my food. "But it's manageable.
"Do you remember when Mom used to make that ridiculous meatloaf?" I said, twirling my fork.
Dad laughed a genuine, short burst of joy. "How could I forget? She used to call it her 'culinary masterpiece.' We all knew it was a disaster waiting to happen."
"Olivia called it 'meat brick.'" I smiled wistfully.
He chuckled again, then turned quiet. His gaze lingered on me, serious, warm, weighted. "You've grown into such a strong woman, Aria. Your mother and sister would be proud."
I blinked hard, not ready for this conversation. "Don't talk like that."
"It's time I did," he said gently. "The truth is… I don't have much time left, honey. I can feel it. Every breath feels heavier than the last."
"Dad…" My voice broke.
"Shh, listen to me. I need to know you'll be okay when I'm gone. I need to know you'll keep living, keep chasing your dreams. Promise me, Aria."
My throat constricted. "I can't do this without you."
"You can. You will." His voice trembled with conviction. "You were meant for more than this small life. Go back to school. Find love, if it happens. Live boldly, my girl."
I didn't respond. I couldn't. I just held his hand tightly and pressed my forehead to his shoulder, silently begging the universe to give me more time.
We finished eating. I helped him to his bed made sure he took his medication and he was comfortable. I kissed him goodnight on the forehead and retired to my bed.
The coughing started around midnight.
It was harsh, violent, like his lungs were trying to escape his chest. I bolted out of bed and rushed to him, panic overtaking sleep.
His skin was pale. Too pale. His lips tinged with blue.
"Dad ...Dad! Stay with me, okay? Just breathe."
He struggled, gripping my arm as though grounding himself to reality.
I didn't hesitate. I called the nurse I usually hired to check on him duringthe day when I am working, and the moment she arrived, we bundled him up and rushed him to the hospital. I didn't even have time to change out of my sleepwear I just threw on a hoodie and jeans and prayed we made it in time.
The ER was a blur of cold lights and the stench of antiseptic. I sat in the stiff plastic chair, fists clenched in my lap, leg bouncing uncontrollably. Every second that passed without an update felt like another crack forming in my soul.
Finally, a doctor approached a middle-aged man with tired eyes and the kind of face that had delivered too many hard truths.
"Miss Davis?"
I jumped up. "Yes?"
"Your father is stable for now, but he's experiencing systemic decline. The cancer has spread. His organs are starting to fail."
My world tilted. "What what does that mean?"
He hesitated. "He has a few days left. Maybe a week. We recommend admitting him for palliative care. It will help manage his pain and give you both some time together."
I nodded slowly, my limbs moving before my brain caught up. I signed the papers, numbly agreed to the forms, and followed the nurse into his new hospital room.
He was sleeping when I entered, IVs in his arm, machines beeping steadily beside him. He looked smaller in the sterile white sheets, as if he were slowly disappearing.
I sank into the chair beside him and let the tears fall freely this time. The weight of every suppressed emotion crushed down like a tidal wave. I didn't even try to be strong.
I stayed there the whole night, texting my manager a vague excuse about a family emergency. My job, my blood sugar levels, my future none of it mattered right now.
I had to be here. For him. For me.
Even if it shattered me.