During his final week, I slept in a vinyl chair beside his hospital bed.
Any change in his breathing woke me.
I learned every sound made by the machines surrounding him.
On his final night, the doctor asked me to step into the hallway.
“It may only be a few hours, Rosalie.”
I nodded because I knew that if I tried to speak, I would fall apart.
When I returned to the room, Frank seemed to be sleeping.
I lowered myself into the chair and slipped my hand beneath his.
Without warning, his fingers tightened around my wrist.
Hard.
“Promise you’ll hear me out before you hate me,” he suddenly said.
I froze.
“I could never hate you.”
His hand was cold against mine.
“I’ve lied to you your entire life.”
I tried to smile. “Dad, you’re exhausted. Let me get the nurse.”
