I stop midway on the stairs. “He didn’t wake up after he hit his head?”

“No, he didn’t.”

The world spins . . .

“I’m sorry.”

The air leaves my lungs.

“He’s headed to Memorial Hospital.”

“I’m on my way.”

I run home and get dressed as fast as I can. I pull out of my driveway at record speed.

Please, be okay.

I grip the steering wheel with white-knuckle force as I drive, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion.

It’s 3:00 a.m. How long was he lying on the floor before someone found him?

Was he calling for help and nobody came?

My stomach twists with regret. Here I was, having the best night ever, tucked safely in bed with Juliet, and he was lying on the floor in a cold nursing home.

The traffic light turns yellow, and I drive straight through. I glance up to the rearview mirror to see if a camera flashes.

I drive faster.

I’m sorry, we did all that we could.

She didn’t make it.

The road blurs, and I wipe my tears with the back of my forearm. Suddenly I’m a fifteen-year-old boy again, reliving my worst nightmare.

I’m sorry. We did all that we could.

I can hardly see the road anymore; I angrily wipe my eyes again.

I speed up.

We just need to get on with it, son. It’s just you and me now.

His words of wisdom come back to me, yet they bring me no comfort.

“Don’t leave me, Dad.” I screw up my face in tears. “Not yet. I’m not ready. You can’t leave me yet.”

After the longest drive in history, I finally pull into the hospital. I park in a spot reserved for doctors and run inside at top speed. The security guard looks me up and down.

“My father was just brought in by ambulance?”

“Head to the emergency department.” He points down the corridor. “Follow the red arrows.”

“Thank you.” I run down the corridor and up to the check-in desk. “Hello. My father was just brought in by ambulance.”

She gives me a kind smile. It’s only then I realize what I must look like.

“Hello,” she says calmly. “What was his name, dear?”

“Bernard James.”

She types his name in and then reads her computer screen and twists her lips as if not liking what she’s reading.

“What is it?” I stammer. “What’s happened?”

“Just take a seat, sweetheart,” she says softly. “Someone will be out to get you soon.”

“Is he okay?”

“I can’t see any information, only that he’s arrived. I do have a note here for me to let them know when next of kin arrives. What was your name, sir?”

I stare at her. “Henley James.”

“Take a seat.” She gestures over to the chairs in the waiting area. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”

“Okay.”

I take a seat and lean my elbows on my knees. My heart is racing.

Next of kin.

The kind receptionist calls someone, and I watch her with my heart in my throat.

Who did she call?

The double doors open, and a man in scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck comes into view. “Henley?”

On autopilot, I stand. “Yes.”

“This way, please.” He turns and walks down the corridor, and I follow him down to the ward where an empty bed sits in a private room.

“Where is he?”

“Having a scan. He had a significant blow to the head and is unconscious.”

“Still?” My eyes are wide. “He’s been out for how long?”

“Over an hour now.” He gestures to a chair. “Take a seat. I need to talk to you.”

I drop to the chair.

“I just need to go over your father’s health plan.”

“I’ll cover everything. You don’t need to worry about payment. Just give him the best treatment that there is.”

“Henley.” He pauses. “He has a do-not-resuscitate order on his file.”

“What?”

“He has specified that if something happens, he doesn’t want to be resuscitated.”

The doctor’s silhouette blurs.

“That’s ridiculous,” I spit. “You have to do all you can.”

“You need to respect his wishes.”

“You do it,” I spit angrily. “He’s just knocked out; he’s going to be fine.” I stand. “You go to that scan room, and you do your fucking job and fix him.” I’m outraged. “Why are you wasting time in here blubbering this nonsense to me when he needs you in there?”

The doctor stands. “He’ll be back from the scans soon.”

“And I’ll be here waiting for him.” I don’t know why, but I’m furious with this doctor. “He’ll be awake soon. He’s a fighter,” I tell him.

The doctor gives me a sad smile and leaves me alone.

I begin to pace back and forth. Back and forth.

He doesn’t want to be resuscitated . . . Why? Why would he say that?

Aren’t I enough to live for?

I drop to the chair in the corner, my mind floating between the now and then.

I see my father and mother, so happy and in love. Our family vacations and the house filled with noise and laughter. The love between them in Technicolor brightness, so over the top that it could be felt by all who knew them.

I’m sorry. We couldn’t save her.

And then . . . his life without her.

The long days and endless nights of deafening silence.

Suddenly, it becomes all too clear why he doesn’t want to be revived.

He wants to be with her.

And who can blame him? . . . I want to be with her too.

Where the love and happiness are so fulfilling. The light from her happy heart, so bright that it eclipses anything and everything.

A nurse appears. “Here he is.” Coming behind her are two orderlies wheeling my father on his bed. He’s asleep . . . unconscious, whatever the hell he is. He has a bandage around his head. I stand in the corner and watch as they hook him up to all the machines. The gentle beep of his heartbeat now sounds through the room.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep.

“The doctor will be in soon.” The nurse smiles as she leaves us alone.

“Thanks.” I pull my fingers through his hair to smooth it and take his hand in mine as I stare at him. His skin is smooth. He looks peaceful.

“I understand now, Dad,” I whisper as I cup his face in my hand and brush my thumb back and forth over his stubble. “Now that I’m with Juliet, I understand.”

He doesn’t move.

“I know why you chose to forget everything . . . to forget me.” I brush his hair back from his forehead once more. The lump in my throat is so big that it’s painful. “It was too hard to remember her, wasn’t it?”

He lies still. His chest rises and falls as he softly breathes.

“It’s okay, Dad.” His silhouette blurs. “You can go now.”

Beep . . . beep . . . beep.

“Thank you for looking after me so well,” I whisper. “It can’t have been easy to live with someone for all those years who was just like her . . . but wasn’t.” I screw up my face in tears as I take his hand in mine. “I love you so much, Dad. You did a good job on your own. I’m so proud to be your son.”

His eyelids flutter, and I smile through tears. He can hear me. He’s in there somewhere.

“I know you love me, Dad,” I whisper. His eyelid flickers again, and I smile through tears. “You can go now. It’s okay. I understand.”

The doctor walks into the room holding a clipboard, and I stand back and wipe my eyes; he gives me a sad smile. “Okay, the scan results are back.”

“And?”

“He’s had an aneurysm.”