Page 28

My pulse quickens. If his mind is returning, even in pieces, I know the man buried beneath will return too. His cruelty. His cunning. And his faith, the twisted, consuming belief that justified every evil thing he did. My face remains neutral, though my mind teeters on the edge of panic. Is this the Lord’s joke? I think bitterly. A man who claimed divine purpose is now clawing his way back from the brink, proof, perhaps, that God has a sense of humor.

His lips twitch faintly, the barest hint of movement. And for a moment, I wonder if I see it, a flicker of recognition, a flash of calculation, cold and quick.

I need to stay ahead of this, I think, my stomach twisting. Whatever’s waking up inside him, I need to be ready.

“Hello, Father,” I say softly, the word deliberate and cold on my tongue. He used to want something softer from me, and for years I gave it to him. Not anymore. Now he gets it the way you’d greet a stranger, polite and distant, nothing owed.

I step closer to the bed. The nurses hover nearby, their polite smiles stretched too tight, the kind of look people wear when they expect a sweet, teary reunion, not whatever this is.

I lean down, wrapping my arms around his frail body. He’s all brittle bones and paper-thin skin, stiff and unyielding as I pull him into me. His breath rasps against my neck, shallow, fragile, like each inhale is a battle and each exhale might be the last.

I ease back slightly, just enough to keep my face close, to let the nurses believe I’m offering comfort.

My voice slips into a whisper, low and meant only for him. “You remember me, don’t you?”

The words stir the air between us, barely a stir, barely a sound.

I pull back just enough to see his face. His eyes blink, slow, deliberate, locking on to mine.

Yes.

My stomach tightens, a knot of anticipation and dread pulling inside me. I draw back further, studying his face. The nurses are watching, and I paint my expression with concern, as if I’m searching for signs of the man I once loved as a father. Before he turned into a monster. I clasp his hand gently, for their benefit, the practiced worry in my voice betraying none of the storm inside me. “Are you in pain?” I ask softly.

Two quick blinks.

No.

I glance at the nurse scribbling notes, lifting my voice just enough for her to hear. “Is he in pain?” I ask, brushing my thumb over his knuckles in what must look like a tender gesture.

“I don’t believe so.” The nurse’s voice floats from behind me. “I’ll give you some alone time. I’ll be back shortly.” I hear the soft steps of her nursing shoes leave the room. Now it’s just him and me.

My eyes probe his face, sharp and unyielding, searching for answers he may or may not still hold. “I see you’re able to communicate,” I murmur, softer now, my voice lowering like a veil between us. “One blink for yes, two for no.”

I tilt my head, studying the deliberate flicker of his eyelids. His ability to respond intrigues me. I lean in just slightly, keeping my tone clinical, almost detached. “It seems the accident spared your brainstem. That’s where the cranial nerves responsible for eye movement and blinking originate. Lucky you.” My lips curl faintly, the sweetness more bitter than kind.

He blinks once, slow and deliberate— a yes.

His shallow breaths quicken, just barely, a tiny shift, but I catch it. He’s listening. Even if he can’t speak, I know he hears me. And that knowledge sends a shiver through me, a twisted mix of dread and exhilaration curling in my chest.

“I’ve been busy while you’ve been… resting,” I murmur, my voice smooth, edged like a blade. Each word slices clean through the stillness, sharp enough to leave marks.

I watch his face carefully, waiting, searching for even the smallest flicker, a twitch of the mouth, a flutter behind his eyes, anything that says I remember.

“Busy learning the things you swore I’d never need.” My fingers brush his thin arm, slow, deliberate, the touch soft but laced with mockery. “Anatomy. Medicine. All the things you called dangerous for a ‘godly woman.’”

I lean in just a little, letting the words press close. His breathing quickens, the slight rise and fall of his chest stuttering at my words. The smallest reaction, but it feels like a triumph.

“But you didn’t just want a godly woman, did you?” I continue, leaning in closer, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You wanted a wife. A mother for the children you thought you were destined to have with me. Do you remember that night, Father? How you told me God had rewarded you, that my body was a vessel for His plan?” My lips curl into a cold smile, the bitterness laced with something darker. “You trained for years, preparing to lead, to preach, to spread your faith. And what did I become?”

I tilt my head, letting the words sink in, savoring the silence. “Not the dutiful wife you tried to mold. Not the broken girl you thought you’d keep in your shadow. I’m a woman of science now. Educated. Independent. A thousand miles away from the weak, obedient thing you wanted me to be.”

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes fully, letting him see the fury and satisfaction flickering beneath my mask of calm. “Your plans failed. And now? Now I decide how the rest of this plays out.”

I lean in, my voice a whisper, laced with venom and triumph. “Do you understand?” I ask, my heart pounding as I watch for his answer, daring him to confront the truth I see written in every tremor of his body.

Another blink. Slow. Purposeful.

“Good,” I whisper.