SASHA’S POV
I sat on the edge of my bed, knees pulled to my chest, staring blankly at the window.
The world outside carried on as if nothing was wrong, but inside, I felt like I was crumbling. Every breath was an effort,
and every thought spiraled into a pit of despair I couldn’t claw my way out of.
The walls of my room, usually a sanctuary, seemed to close in on me. I buried my face in my hands, trying to push back the tears that had been threatening all day.
A soft knock on my door broke the silence.
“Sasha?” My father’s voice was gentle, almost hesitant. “I brought you something to eat.”
I froze. My father had been discharged from the hospital only a few days ago, and he was supposed to be resting. The last thing he needed was to worry about me.
I quickly wiped my face and stood, smoothing out my clothes as if that could hide the mess I felt inside.
I opened the door to find him standing there, holding a tray with a bowl of soup and a small plate of bread.
He looked better than he had in weeks, but the lines on his face told the story of everything he’d been through, and everything I’d put him through.
“Dad,” I said softly, taking the tray from his hands.
“You shouldn’t be doing this. You just got discharged. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“And I’m supposed to sit and do nothing while my daughter locks herself in her room and doesn’t eat?” he countered, his tone firm but kind.
“Come on, Sasha. You’ve been there for me through everything. Let me be here for you now.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me. He was worried, and I couldn’t bear to add to his stress.
“Okay,” I said, stepping aside to let him in. “But you’re sitting down. No overexerting yourself.”
He chuckled softly, a sound I hadn’t heard in far too long. “Yes, ma’am.”
He settled into the armchair by the window, and I sat back on the bed, the tray balanced on my lap.
The soup smelled comforting, like something from my childhood. I picked up the spoon, swirling it around the bowl more out of habit than hunger.
“Eat, Sasha,” my father urged gently. “You’ll feel better once you have something in your stomach.”
I nodded, taking a small sip. The warmth spread through me, momentarily soothing the tight knot in my chest. My father watched me closely, his concern evident.
“What’s going on, Sasha?” he asked after a moment. “You’ve been so quiet lately. Is it something with Sebastian?”
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. I didn’t want to burden him with my worries, not when he was still recovering. But the weight of everything felt too heavy to carry alone.
“It’s…complicated,” I said finally, staring into the soup. “I don’t even know where to start.”
He nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in the chair. “Sometimes, just saying it out loud helps. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”
His words were so simple, but they struck a chord. I took a shaky breath, feeling the tears well up again.
“Everything feels so overwhelming,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I thought things were finally getting better, but now…I don’t know. It’s like every time I take a step forward, something pulls me back.”
My father didn’t say anything right away, letting the silence settle between us. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, reassuring.
“You’ve been through so much, Sasha. It’s okay to feel like this. But you’re stronger than you realize.”
“I’ve seen it every day since your mother passed. You’ve always found a way to keep going, even when it feels impossible.”
His words brought a fresh wave of emotion, and I quickly set the tray aside, not trusting my hands to hold it steady.
“Dad,” I said, my voice breaking. “I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m falling apart.”
He stood, crossing the room to sit beside me. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
“It’s okay to fall apart sometimes,” he said softly.
“What matters is that you don’t stay there. And you’re not alone, Sasha. You have me, you have Sebastian. We’re all here for you.”
I leaned into him, letting his presence ground me. For a moment, the weight on my chest felt a little lighter.
“Now,” he said, pulling back and gesturing to the tray. “Eat a little more. You need your strength.”
I managed a small smile and picked up the spoon again. I took another bite, but as soon as the food hit my stomach, a wave of nausea rolled over me. I set the spoon down quickly, my hand flying to my mouth.
“Sasha?” my father asked, alarmed.
“I’ll be right back,” I mumbled, rushing to the bathroom.
I barely made it in time, falling to my knees in front of the toilet as everything I’d just eaten came back up. My body trembled, and tears streamed down my face. I felt utterly defeated.
My father appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of worry and helplessness.
“Sasha, what’s going on?” he asked. “Was the food bad?”
I shook my head, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. “No, it’s not that. I just… I don’t know.”
He frowned, stepping closer but keeping his distance as if unsure whether to comfort me or give me space.
“This isn’t normal,” he said after a moment. “You’ve been so tired lately, and now this? Sasha, we need to get you checked out.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the look on his face stopped me. He wasn’t just worried-he was scared.
“Okay,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse. “Let’s go.”
He nodded, helping me to my feet. As we made our way to the car, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting, that the answers waiting for us at the hospital might change everything.