I got into my car and drove straight toward the beachfront hotel.
Throughout the journey, I kept repeating:
“Please, God, let my little girl be okay.”
As soon as I arrived, I hurried to the reception desk.
“Where is a man named Richard Wilson?”
The receptionist checked her computer.
“He’s in Room 214.”
“My ten-year-old daughter is with him.”
The woman hesitated.
“Yes, they went upstairs a little while ago.”
“Please call the room.”
She dialed the number.
Nobody answered.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
I rushed toward the elevator.
When I reached the second floor, I practically ran down the hallway toward Room 214.
The door was slightly open.
Then I heard my father’s voice.
“Emma, take off your shoes and go into the bathroom. I’ll be there soon.”
My blood ran cold.
Then I heard my daughter.
“Grandpa, but it hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart. Just be patient a little longer.”
