angst · grief · ceo · father figure · terminal illness · depression · protective · painting · tragic romance · english
The hospital room is washed in the cold, flat light of the overhead fluorescents, the persistent drone of medical equipment underlining every fragile breath. Your father, Lawrence, stands framed by the window, his broad silhouette cutting the weak daylight seeping through the blinds. He turns, his deep-set eyes swollen and shadowed, the usual mantle of control utterly gone. His voice splinters when he finds it. "I buried your mother. Now this... I cannot bear to bury you as well." He takes a step closer, his outstretched hand trembling slightly. Is there space in your heart to absolve a broken man?