The hospital air was thick with antiseptic, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the hallways. Machines beeped in rhythmic pulses, the sound crawling under my skin. I felt something un… I couldn't name it – I felt excited, and yet, somehow, absolutely terrified. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
Aunt Julia and I walked side by side, our steps light but urgent. My hands curled into fists, my nails pressing into my palms. I wasn't sure if it was to steady myself or to keep from shaking. I fidgeted unconsciously, unable to stop.
Ward 16. I knew the number by heart now.
I hesitated before stepping inside.
Mom was still in bed, her gaze distant, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked… smaller somehow like the weight of everything had shrunk her. But it was my dad who made my stomach twist.
He was awake. But something was wrong.
His eyes locked onto mine, and relief surged in my chest for half a second— until I noticed the tension in his face. He tried to move his hand, lifting it slightly off the blanket, but it trembled violently before falling back against his side, limp.
"Dad?" My voice cracked. He opened his mouth, his brows knitting together in effort. A rasp of breath escaped, but no words. Just silence. His lips moved again, forming a shape I couldn't understand, but nothing followed.
I took a step closer, my stomach knotting. "Dad, can you—" I stopped myself. I didn't even know what I was asking. I couldn't bear to see both of them like that.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His fingers twitched again, but they were useless. His right hand curled awkwardly, unable to respond the way he wanted.
Panic flared in his eyes. He still cared about getting me worried.
I turned sharply to the nurse by his bedside, my chest tightening. "Why— what's happening?"
She looked at my dad and then said, "Would you like to speak outside?" I was terrified. That means something was terribly wrong.
She hesitated before speaking, her voice careful. "His injuries from the accident caused significant brain damage. He has aphasia, which affects his ability to speak, and…" she glanced at his hand, "…he's also experiencing motor impairment. That means movement—especially fine motor skills—will be difficult for him."
My mind blanked.
I looked at him through the door again. He was still staring at me, frustration etched into his face, his body betraying him at every turn. His fingers twitched again, the same useless movement as before.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. He's trapped.
A thousand things I should have said to him before the accident crashed into me at once. The last time we had dinner together, I barely spoke to him. I was irritable, drowning in my own problems. And now? Now he couldn't even tell me if he was in pain. He couldn't even say my name.
I forced a small smile, though my vision blurred with tears. I tried to act tough.
"Aunt Julia," I whispered.
I nudged her, a look of absolute terror was on her face. She looked like she regretted bringing me here. Her lips were parted, she wanted to reassure me, but she couldn't quite calm down herself.
I wanted to stay with them, but I wanted to run away. I wished I could run away or just disappear. But I couldn't. I can't. I just can't.
I didn't know what I needed, I knew that she wouldn't be the one to provide
it.
"What about Mom?" I asked expectantly.
"Your mom has a few broken ribs, which makes it really painful for her to breathe and talk. Right now, she's lost her voice—it's called aphonia. It's probably from a mix of pain, stress, and trauma from the accident. The good news is there's no permanent damage, but she'll need time to heal. Rest will help, and later on, she might need some speech therapy to fully recover." Her voice gentle yet laced with caution, almost as if she had done this multiple times before.
"Should," I echoed hollowly. My lips quivered as I looked away. I stared and stared at the clock nearby.
She softened. "She will. But it won't be easy."
I sucked in a shaky breath, my lips quivering. "They'll be okay… right?"
The nurse's gaze flickered, like she was choosing her words carefully. "They're alive. And they're fighting." Her voice was gentle, steady. "But this is going to take time, a lot of time."
I nodded, but I didn't really feel anything. I wasn't sure if I believed her.
Aunt Julia placed a hesitant hand on my shoulder. It wasn't comforting. Not really. But at least she was trying.
And right now, that was all either of us could do.
It felt very odd to me that the both of them had lost the ability to speak at the same time. The fact that they were missing for so many days before the hospital called only added to it.
"When," I tried to speak as my lips shivered, "How long before you called were they brought here…?"
"I will have to check the records for that, I will let you know," the nurse replied.
The nurse walked down the stairway and I followed her as she checked the records. Her eyes scanned every word – analysing everything.
"2hours ma'am." She replied.
Two hours.
I felt my breath catch. My ears buzzed, drowning out the hum of the hospital around me. That can't be right. That's not right.
I forced myself to speak, but my voice came out thin, fragile. "Two hours?" I repeated, like saying it again would somehow change it. My hands felt cold, my fingers tingling like my body didn't know whether to fight or freeze.
I tried to piece it together—tried to make sense of something that didn't Make sense. My parents had been gone for days. Days of silence. Days of not knowing. Days where they could have been anywhere. But they were only admitted two hours before they called?
That means… what? That they were somewhere else before this? That nobody found them? That they weren't in a hospital, weren't getting help, weren't even accounted for?
My stomach twisted.
If they had been missing all this time, but only just brought here, then—
Then where the hell were they? We have no relatives or whatsoever where they were headed.