ELIJAH'S POV
When Imogen stormed off and her mother chased after her, my mother took me by the hand, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman who looked physically and mentally exhausted. Without a word, she led me into my father's ward, the door closing behind us with a soft click that felt oddly final.
The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room, a constant reminder of why we were all here. My father lay still, tubes and wires connecting him to various machines. The sight of him, usually so strong and commanding, now reduced to this frail figure, made my stomach churn.
My mother's voice was low and controlled when she broke the silence. "Elijah, what is going on?"
I turned to face her, my mind racing to find the right words. But before I could speak, she continued.
