The door burst open, and David Morrison practically stumbled into the room, his eyes wild with a mixture of panic and desperate hope.
His work clothes were rumpled, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it, and there were traces of tears on his weathered face.
"Linda? Nina? Oh God, where..." He stopped short, taking in the scene before him.
His little girl, pale but peaceful in a bed that looked like something from a medical magazine. His wife, sitting in a real chair instead of a hard plastic hospital seat.
The room itself - spacious, clean, filled with natural light and modern equipment that hummed quietly rather than beeping harshly.
"Daddy!" Nina's weak call drew his attention, and he rushed to her bedside.
"Baby girl," he whispered, his voice cracking as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Oh, my sweet baby girl. How are you feeling?"
"Better, Daddy. The doctors here are really nice, and they gave me special medicine that doesn't make my tummy hurt."
