Sophia's POV
I rushed into the hospital, my mind a blur of panic and confusion. Each breath came hard and fast. That disturbing feeling still haunted me, but I shoved it aside. I needed answers.
I recognized the voice of the nurse who had called earlier, and I looked around for her while walking towards my dad's ward, which was at the far end of the hallway.
Hospitals always smell the same. The smell was so strong, so much that I felt sick in my stomach. I wished every day that it would be my last day at the hospital because I always felt a certain way whenever I came in here; I couldn't quite figure it out. Maybe it was the sadness I felt seeing so many sick people, or was it the fear from the thought of how many people lose their lives there every day?
I didn't know how I managed to run through the hallway with my whole body shaking, but I kept going. So many things went through my mind all at once. I'm sure a lot was going on around me, but it felt like my ears canceled out all the noise, and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears.
I turned to the corner that led to Ward 3B, almost falling. I pushed open the double doors with all of my strength. My dad was not on his bed; my panic doubled. "Where is he?" I asked as I continued to look around the room for him.
"Sophia," a nurse called with a low and soft voice, tapping my shoulder from behind, but I ignored her and continued looking around. My heart wouldn't let me stop. All I wanted was to see him. I needed to see my dad.
But his bed was empty. "Is he in the toilet?" I asked again, finally turning to the nurse with my hands open.
The blankets were folded neatly on the bed. The machine that beeped steadily was silent. "Was he moved into another ward? Why?" I asked ev\erything all at once. I kept asking questions even though I had gotten no reply.
Finally, I stood still—no more questions, just me looking completely confused and lost.
"Sophia..." The nurse who had called me earlier placed her hand gently on my shoulder.
I turned to her, my voice shaking. "Where's my dad?"
"I'm sorry." Her face had been sad the whole time, but I hadn't noticed until now, and that's when I knew.
"No... no, no, no, please," I said quietly, slowly moving backward.
"I'm so sorry," she said again. Her voice was very low this time. "We tried to stabilize him, but... he went into shock. It was too severe. We did everything we could. I'm sorry."
My legs began to shake, and I fell to the floor. I didn't care where I was or that strangers were watching. I screamed, loud and long, and tears began to stream down my face. For a moment, I couldn't believe what I had just heard. My entire body was now shaking. The ache in my chest throbbed so hard I thought my ribs would crack. I shook my head and kept slapping my face. I wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming.
Two nurses rushed over, kneeling beside me. One wrapped her arms around my shaking body while the other handed me tissues. I couldn't even see through the blur of tears.
"He was stable this morning," I said, crying. "I just left a few hours ago. He was smiling. He told me to get some sleep. He said he was going to be fine."
"He developed complications quickly," the nurse replied gently, trying to help me get on my feet. "After the blood transfusion early this morning, there were no signs of infection. We monitored him closely, but it progressed into severe shock. We did everything we could."
It was as if her words were hanging around my head and turning round. I heard what she said, but it didn't make sense to me.
My dad had been in this hospital for some weeks. I had just gotten home from work when I saw him in bed, in severe pain. He had a very high fever, so much that I screamed when I touched his body. He had been vomiting a day before, but he told me he could handle it. I had thought it was food poisoning when it got severe, but after several tests and scans, they found out that it was his appendix that had torn open and had led to a serious infection of the wall of his stomach.
He was immediately booked for surgery, and he made it through the operation. He was weak and needed blood transfusions afterward. I thought that was all.
Every single day since that surgery, I have stayed by his side. I had taken a week off from work to be by his side. I resumed work because he had assured me that he would be fine, and I believed him. I returned every day after my shift to be with him. I only left this morning when he convinced me to go home and get some rest.
I remember the way he squeezed my hand, even though his skin was cold. "Soph, go home and sleep a little. I'm not going anywhere," he said, forcing a smile.
But he did.
He left me.
And I couldn't breathe.
The nurses helped me out of the Ward and into a quiet room where I sat and cried for hours; the tears refused to stop flowing. I don't even remember what I said or if I said anything at all. My world had stopped, and I was hurt. I felt empty and alone; I had never felt this way before. I kept on hitting my chest because I thought my heart had failed.
We were so close to his dream. We saved up every penny; we didn't buy anything fancy, just so we could afford to buy our first house, as my dad had always desired. We were close to getting our house before this happened.
"I can't do this on my own", I whispered to myself, as tears started flowing down my face again. The thought of disappointing my dad, even in his death, made my heart ache.
I had no choice but to use our savings. Most of it was spent on surgery, medications, ICU, and Follow-ups.
I remember one night when my dad was sad that we had to take money from the savings for his bills. But I told him it didn't matter. I told him all I wanted was for him to get better. Right now, I could give up anything just to have him back.
I leaned against the window, looking out at the city; everything looked so strange to me. I cried even more and more, and I still couldn't wrap my head around everything. I already miss him. I was pained that I wasn't there by his side.
I miss his laugh, his stories, and the way he made burnt toast. I miss our routines. Sunday pancakes. Late-night TV. His jokes that I never really did understand. He went through a lot, but no one could tell because he always appeared strong.
He was my only family. My whole world.
I don't know how life would be without him. I thought hard, trying to create images of me without my dad, but I couldn't. I became cold suddenly. "How do I start my life alone now?" I asked, weeping and shivering.
The nurse came in and told me I could see him if I wanted to. I nodded, numb.
I went with her into the room where he was, and it was cold. He looked like he was sleeping peacefully. But he was too still. Too quiet. My heart was broken. It was now clear to me that he was gone for good, and there was nothing else I could do about it.
I stood there, holding on to my jacket tightly, replaying everything that had happened. I wish he would sneeze and come back to life.
I held his hand, but it was already cold. Tears ran down my cheeks; they kept pouring down.
I wanted to scream again, but no sound came. I just stood there, tears falling freely, whispering how sorry I was. For not being there when he took his last breath. For not knowing that this would happen. For not doing more.