Daddy's Little Whore
Daddy’s Little Whore – Part 47

KEIRA’s POV

I was out of my car the minute I pulled up at the hospital’s parking lot. I did not know what to expect from the doctors and the thought of it put me in anxiety. What was the worst that could happen when someone got a heart attack?

I hated that I knew the answer to that question. I burst in through the hospital doors and rushed straight to the front desk, breathing as if I would just run a marathon.

“I got a call from the hospital,” I told the nurse who held a telephone to her ear. “My father suffered a heart attack and is admitted here. I am his daughter.”

“Name?”

“Kane Temple.”

A few people seated at the reception caught my attention. Two girls consoled a woman who wept bitterly. Only the loss of someone would make a person cry that way. From their words that I overheard them say, the doctors could not save her son who got into an accident.

My anxiety skyrocketed.

What if they could not save Papa too? I imagined how hard being a doctor was. I imagined how heartbreaking it must feel to lose a life you were supposed to save.

But a part of me wanted to resent them. Resent their inability to fight against fate. Or was it destiny perhaps?

I remembered feeling hopeless when the ambulance came and said they could not save mum. She had sustained two bullet wounds to the chest and my brother, one to his head.

I remembered feeling angry they could not do anything to save them despite their degrees and many years in training. It all proved useless. I had been mad at them and the entire world.

But doctors were not superheroes. They could only save what was meant to be saved. They could not bring a dead one back to life. Still, I wanted a miracle in my own case. I wanted a miracle for Papa and I prayed I would get that.

My mum and my brother could not get a miracle, so I would make sure Papa would.

The nurse stretched forward a form and a pen. “Fill in the form and go straight to VIP room 198.”

I put in my name and a few other details indicated in the form. The words on the paper looked distorted as I struggled to focus, but my head kept pounding. It was hard to concentrate with the turmoil brewing inside me, waiting to burst out.

“I will fill in the rest. You can go through.”

I gave a brief nod, already heading down to papa’s room, clamping down on my jaw so hard I was surprised I did not chip a molar. And when I neared the room, my hands tucked in my pockets, I saw the doctor in charge come outside of the room. A name tag was glued to his white doctor’s coat and he held a file in his hands. Probably papa’s.

“Keira Temple?”

“That is me,” I confirmed. “Is my dad going to be okay?” Reassurance was only what I wanted. I did not fancy long medical explanations of what happened. I would appreciate it if he could just get straight to the point.

His face was unreadable and I could not tell if Papa’s condition was bad.

“We can’t be certain of anything yet as he is still under serious care. If he was brought in a little bit later, then there would not be anything we could have done to save him.”

The frown lines on my forehead appeared. Was that good or bad news? I could not tell.

“But this should not be a cause for worry,” he was saying and I calmed down a bit. “The chances of a heart attack are higher when one gets older. It is identifying the symptoms earlier for proper medication that is important. How long has he been showing symptoms?”

Papa and I did not live together and I rarely visited. I would not have known if he showed any symptoms which made me feel worse about myself. What if he had passed out alone at home with no one to help him? An image of him lying helpless in the house alone flitted across my mind and it broke my heart further.

“We live apart,” I said. “I do not know if he showed any symptoms or for how long. He does not tell me stuff like this.”

“Good news is, he does not seem like he has developed symptoms for that long, but your father needs proper care.”

“Do whatever you can to save him,” I pleaded.

The doctor nodded. “We will keep a close eye on him.”

I stared at Papa’s room door with a boldly written VIP on it. “Can I see him?”

“You can.”

He left me standing alone in front of the door as I pushed it open. He lay unconscious on the bed, and the wires attached to his body broke my heart. I noticed that his hair had more grey in them than I remembered. He was ageing too fast and I could not handle it.

I always wanted to remember him as the man who used to be as strong as a bull, who used to be as vibrant before life happened. I hated seeing him getting old.

The heaters in the room emitted a warmness that soothed my bones. I sank into a chair beside him, taking his hand into mine. They felt cold.

I could not do this alone. I thought I could, but this was beyond my capabilities. Nothing broke me more than seeing him this way.

I needed my friends this time.

The silence in the room stretched as I waited before I called my friends over. I heard my phone ring but I was not in the mood to speak to anyone. Not now. I needed time alone with my thoughts. I opted for speaking to him even if he could not hear me. It might make me feel better.

“I know I have not been the best daughter,” I began, sniffling. “I should have checked up on you more. We were supposed to be there for each other, right? It is all my fault. I was too focused on getting my shit together and left you all on your own. I am sorry.”

The heart monitor kept beeping at a steady pace.

“You can’t leave me to go meet mum yet. She was going to have to wait a little while longer,” I gave him a weak smile. “Please, just wake up.”

My phone buzzed again in my pockets and I still did not bother to see who it was. Whoever it was would have to wait. I kept holding onto his hand even as I dozed off a couple of minutes later, my head dangled from side to side in my nap, jolting awake a couple of times when I felt like I would fall over from the chair.

Papa still had not woken up.

A nurse walked into the room to fix an IV drip to his arm. She gave me a quick greeting as I weakly responded.

“Even non religious folks turn prayerful when put in your position and hope for a miracle,” the woman commented, shooting me a kind smile. “The staff is doing all they can, I assure you.”

I trusted them. At least I wanted to. But seeing my dad this way did not really give me much reassurance. She was right about one thing, though. Hope. I hoped for a miracle.

Because Papa would not dare to leave me yet.