Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
“Something wrong?”
Clarissa blinked away the shininess in her eyes, a grim frown tugging at her usually happy demeanor. “Call your mother, Anton. It’s important.”
Oddly, Anton felt strangely calm as he padded down the hallway to his office. There was no underlying sense of foreboding or curiosity over his mother’s late night call. Maybe it was the sleeplessness doing it, or something else. He should have known better—he did, really, but maybe that was his mind’s way of protecting what was left of his sanity. Because there ... there in the back of his barely conscious thoughts, Anton knew what his mother was calling for.
Of course he did.
Without even having asked Clarissa where his mother called from, Anton dialed his father’s hospital room number.
Sasha rarely left Daniil’s side, especially as his sickness was progressing closer to the end every day. There was a brief couple of hours after supper had been served—though Daniil was fed intravenously, now, and had been for a while—that Sasha escaped the confines of the hospital. Mostly at Daniil’s order, Anton knew. Despite his wife being a registered nurse, there were still things Daniil didn’t want Sasha to see about his care and daily issues. Perhaps it was what was left of his pride, but he refused to have her help him bathe and things of that nature.
Anton understood his father’s wishes in that regard, but he also knew it was hard on his mother. Sasha didn’t care how weak and frail he was, or how much help he needed just to be turned over to be washed, she would do it if he would only let her.
Her love held no boundaries. It never had.
“Ma,” Anton said instantly the moment the call was picked up.
Sasha, for a long while, said nothing. But then she asked her son to come to the hospital as soon as he possibly could. She didn’t explain a thing, and despite the sadness underlying her tone, she was as calm as her son on the other end of the call. They all expected this.
Anton didn’t bother to ask if his mother was sure she needed him there, or if maybe it was a false alarm. Sasha wouldn’t worry him for nothing, especially now that Demyan was home with him and Viviana.
Beyond that, a DNR had been signed earlier that week at Daniil’s request.
Do Not Resuscitate.
His lungs were failing. Pneumonia had set in. There was no fight left.
It was a waiting game.
Anton wanted to wait it out just a little while longer.
“Anton?” he heard his mother ask faintly in the background of rushing, crushing thoughts.
“I’m coming,” Anton managed to say, somehow. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
The pain was settling in. It was burrowing deep like a drill to his bones.
Suffocating. Choking. Spilling into his throat and thickening his words.
Who is a man with no father?
Anton would give everything he owned to keep Daniil for one more day, one more hour. The man who taught him how to throw a ball, and how to hold a pencil. The father who didn’t mind indulging his only child with just one more story every night at bedtime. The firm hand who demonstrated discipline just as well as the soft heart who showed unconditional love.
How could Anton possibly ever be ready to let go of that man?
He didn’t have a choice.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Anton repeated.
“Okay, I’ll let the nurses at the front desk know so one of them can notify security to let you in to the ward.”
Anton ended the call without another word. It was only at that point he realized his cheeks were soaked in silent tears, and his wife was standing in the doorway.
“I have to go,” Anton said, his hand still clutching the phone. He felt so distant from everything. Weightless but aching. “I’m sorry if I woke the baby.”
Viviana’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be sorry. And he’s still sleeping. Are you ...?”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Anton knew what she was asking.
Was he okay?
“No.”
*
Anton sat on one side of the hospital bed while his mother sat on the other side. Between his hands, Anton held the seemingly smaller than ever hand of his father. Daniil already felt cold and his skin looked as thin and white as paper. Anton pressed the underside of Daniil’s palm to his cheek, just to feel his Papa hold him one last time.
As hard as he tried, Anton couldn’t remember a time when he felt more like a lost little boy than he did at that very moment, knowing his father was leaving.
“I love you, Papa,” Anton whispered into his father’s hand. “You taught me what those words meant, you know.”
Again, the tears fell. Anton couldn’t be bothered to wipe away the wetness or hide the emotion. It was only his parents there to see, anyway.
Softly, like a feather tapping to his jaw, Anton felt the tips of Daniil’s fingers stroke his skin. The tender motion only served to break him further, tearing a choked, hoarse sob from Anton’s chest and out his throat. The weight of the sound stung like bee stings to his tongue.