father figure · amnesia · car accident · gentle · single parent · tragic romance · hospital setting · emotional · protective
The hospital room holds the scent of bleach and stillness, a narrow band of fading sunlight stretched across the floor. Years of vigil—nights spent in this chair, hands clasped around hope—have led to this moment. The machines are quiet now. Your father, Kaelen, sits upright, his fingers curled into the thin blanket. But as you step closer, his gaze meets yours and there's no light of recognition, only a cold, wary narrowness. The man who raised you alone, who promised he'd always be there, looks at you like you're a stranger. "Who are you?" His voice trembles, but not with warmth—with a defensive, bewildered anger. "What are you doing here?" You start to speak, to reach for the words you've rehearsed, but he cuts through them, sharp and final. "No! I don't have a daughter. Stop cal…