My mom reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “But I didn’t.” Her smile was soft. “And neither did you.”
I sat there thinking about that for a long time.
If my mom could move forward after everything, maybe I could too.
Not forgiveness, but something close to peace.
Maybe I could too.
***
The following day, I walked back into Room 304 with a chart and a calm expression. My father looked nervous the moment he saw me.
“Kel… ly…”
I checked his IV line. “How are you feeling this morning?”
He swallowed. “I’m… sorry.”
I kept my tone professional. “You need to focus on your recovery.”
His eyes searched my face. “I… kept… image…”
“I’m… sorry.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.
So I did my job. I assigned the best physical therapist in the building and ensured his medication was adjusted correctly. When his feeding schedule needed changing, I handled it personally.
My coworker Maria noticed one afternoon. “You sure are giving Room 304 a lot of attention.”
“He needs it,” I simply said.
She said nothing more.
I assigned the best physical therapist.
