“I’m already checking flights.”
“You didn’t even ask whether I wanted you here.”
“You called the number.”
Then he ended the connection.
I stood motionless for a moment, staring at my dark reflection in the hospital window. The man looking back at me wore khaki pants and a blue sweater stained with his son’s blood. He looked like a tired father who had left work early and driven too fast through afternoon traffic.
He did not look like the man Daniel remembered.
I returned to Jake’s bedside and found a woman in a navy blazer speaking with the doctor. She introduced herself as Detective Lena Ortiz from the Metro Nashville Police Department’s family intervention unit.
Her manner was calm, almost gentle, but her eyes missed nothing.
She asked me to sit beside Jake while a child specialist spoke with him. I agreed, though every question felt like a blade being pressed carefully against my skin.
