I jumped up from the couch. Dad immediately grabbed my hand and put a finger to his lips. Then the headlights of a vehicle shone through the window. Someone knocked three times on the front door. Dad went pale.
—Stay here —he said.
I didn’t want to let him go, but he left the room and closed the bedroom door behind him. At first, I heard whispers downstairs, followed by heavy footsteps. Someone was coming up the stairs. The doorknob began to turn.
—Emily, open the door—I heard my father say.
You can read what happened next in the comments.
When I opened the door, Dad was there with two men in medical scrubs. One of them was carrying a bag full of equipment. The other pulled the chair closer to the bed. I had no idea what was going on.
Doors and Windows.
Dad sat down and finally told me the truth. A few weeks earlier, the doctors had discovered a serious heart rhythm disorder. His doctor had warned him that he couldn’t delay treatment, but Dad had postponed it because he didn’t want to spend my birthday in the hospital. That morning, his condition had worsened. The doctor had insisted that he go to the hospital immediately, but Dad had asked for one more night at home so he could be with me.
