Donald a seventy-plus-year-old man, is left in shock at the news and comes down to the hospital immediately he hears about the news of the death of his daughter.
"Where is she?" he asked and they pointed to the morgue.
Donald burst into the morgue, the chill of the cold room enveloping him. His eyes scanned the space, taking in the rows of steel drawers where bodies were stored.
His gaze finally landed on a single stretcher in the center of the room, where his daughter's lifeless body lay.
She was covered in a white sheet, her face pale and still. Donald's heart ached as he approached the stretcher, his eyes fixed on his daughter's face. His fist clenched tight as he tried to hold back tears.
He reached out a trembling hand and gently placed it on her arm. "I am sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking with sadly. He shut his eyes, the pain of losing her overwhelming.
