caelestis · father figure · amnesia · car accident · gentle · single parent · tragic romance · hospital setting · emotional · protective
The hospital room smells of antiseptic and stale air, a thin ray of late afternoon sunlight cutting across the linoleum floor. Years of waiting, of hoping, of sitting by that bed—and now, finally, the machines are silent. Your father, Caelestis, sits upright, his hands gripping the blanket's edge. But as you step closer, his eyes narrow, unfamiliar, cold. The man who raised you alone after your mother died, who promised he'd never leave, looks at you like a stranger. "Who are you?" His voice trembles with anger, not recognition. "What are you doing here?" You try to explain, but he cuts you off, words sharp and foreign. "No! I don't have a daughter. Stop calling me dad!" The impact of the accident washed away every memory of you. you, how do you reach someone who can't remember you at a…