New Growth

Prologue.

Eleven hours.

It had been eleven hours since I last spoke to my father. He complained about his chest hurting, and I told him to take his meds and rest. I usually stopped by on my way to work to help him with his medication before my shift, but I was late this morning, and he assured me he could handle it.

I believed him when I shouldn’t have.

Impatiently, I sat in the waiting room. My body hunched over in one of those hard plastic chairs designed to keep you uncomfortable as I stared aimlessly at the same corner of the scuffed linoleum floor that I’d been studying for the last hour.

My hands were clasped so tightly in my lap that the knuckles turned pale.

I wasn’t sure if I was praying or begging at this point.

God, please. Help him. Heal him. Don’t let him suffer in vain. The man was supposed to walk me down the aisle in a few months. Don’t take this from me. Please. Don’t take my daddy.

The words could’ve fallen on deaf ears for all I knew. I couldn’t tell the signs of God listening; I hadn’t been to church in a while. Still, I hoped something out there heard me, as broken as I was.

“He’s still in surgery.”

The words had been ringing in my ears ever since the nurse said them. I still wasn’t sure I believed her. Surgery. Daddy has gone—no, not gone, he was taken—to surgery three hours ago. The nurses had said he was critical and that the heart attack had caused significant damage.

“We’ll do everything we can,” one of them had told me, her voice gentle but cautious, like she’d said the same thing a thousand times before and didn’t want to get my hopes up. It was meant to be comforting. But, like this chair, it wasn’t.

It didn’t seem real. None of it did.

I was heading home from work when I decided to stop by Daddy’s house to catch the new episode of our show, just like we always did on Fridays.

I felt exhausted and sticky from another long shift at the hotel.

My feet ached, my shoes clinging uncomfortably after hours of walking the property.

I’d been looking forward to kicking them off, maybe curling up on the couch with Daddy while he yelled at the detectives on the show for not piecing together what he had in the first five minutes.

But when I opened the door, I found him on the floor instead. He wasn’t moving.

For a moment, I froze. My brain had refused to process what I was seeing—his body sprawled awkwardly on the living room rug, the remote still clutched in his hand. I remembered the sound of my bag dropping to the floor and the feel of my knees hitting the rug as I scrambled to him.

I didn’t remember dialing 911, but I must have because the paramedics arrived so quickly that it felt like a dream. I remembered their calm voices as they lifted him onto the gurney and the brief moment when one of them touched my arm and said to ride with them.

My eyes were on him the entire ride to the hospital. Terrified that if I blinked, he’d slip away.

Now I was here in the waiting room, my mind replaying every word of our last conversation on an endless loop.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, the sound working on the last bit of my sanity. The smell of antiseptic burned my nose. My legs jittered uncontrollably, my body unable to sit still as I waited for answers that I was terrified to hear.

The door to the waiting room creaked open, and I looked up instinctively. Jonathan walked in, his brow furrowed in that way it always was when he was worried. He spotted me immediately and crossed the room in a few quick strides, kneeling in front of me.

“Any news?” he asked, his hands wrapping around mine. His palms were warm against my cold, trembling fingers.

I shook my head. “Nothing yet.”

He squeezed my hands, his touch comforting me just enough to keep me from falling apart. “Your mom and Ryan are on their way,” he said softly.

I just nodded in response. Sensing me shutting down, he quickly slid into the seat next to me.

I leaned into him, hoping that the man I was about to marry would be able to comfort me, but he remained silent.

Jonathan didn’t ask to talk about it, or how I was feeling.

He just stayed there, holding my hands, letting me lean on him in complete silence.

The minutes stretched on, turning into what felt like hours.

All I could think about was Daddy. His smile.

His laugh. The way he always pretended not to understand my jokes, but would burst out laughing seconds later just to get on my nerves.

The way he hugged me like he was holding the whole world. A hug I needed now more than ever.

The door opened again, and this time, it was Ma and Ryan.

Ma looked like she’d aged a decade in the span of a day. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes rimmed red, and her hands shook as she clutched her purse like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She and Daddy had been divorced for almost a decade, but they were still in each other’s lives.

Ryan looked just as shaken. Her face was pale, her wide eyes darting around the room until they landed on me. I stood to greet them.

“Elliot,” Ma said, her voice breaking as she rushed to me. She pulled me into a tight hug, and I felt her tears soak into my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Ma.”

“It’s okay, baby. It’s not your fault,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow. I didn’t hold it against her. As our mother, she had to appear strong for our sake. Even if it meant downplaying her emotions.

Ryan stood a few feet away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

She didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough to shatter what little composure I had left.

I held my hand out to her, and she took it reluctantly.

We sat together, the three of us, huddled in a corner of the waiting room while Jonathan stood by our side.

Then the door opened one final time.

It was the doctor. He stepped inside, his expression somber, and immediately I knew. I just fucking knew.

“Ms. Sawyer?” he said, his voice steady but soft.

I stood on shaky legs, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest that I thought it might burst.

“That’s me,” I croaked.

He looked at all of us, his eyes filled with a quiet kind of sympathy that I hated.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, and those three words were like a punch to the gut. “We did everything we could, but the damage to his heart was too severe. He didn’t make it.”

The room spun.

I heard someone scream—a raw, guttural sound that didn’t feel human—and it took me a moment to realize it was coming from me.

“No,” I gasped, stumbling back as Jonathan caught me. “No, no, no, no. He—he can’t—”

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor repeated, but his words felt distant, muffled like they were coming from underwater.

Ma broke down next to me, collapsing into a chair as sobs wrecked her body.

Ryan stood frozen, her face blank with shock, before the tears started falling. She turned to me, her face contorted with anger and pain.

“This is your fault!” she screamed. “It’s all your fucking fault, Elliot! You knew he wasn’t feeling well, and you didn’t go check on him! You could’ve told me. I would’ve checked on him!”

I didn’t say anything. I stumbled back again, shaking my head as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.

“Ryan, stop!” Jonathan snapped, stepping between us.

But she wasn’t done. “You could’ve done something! You should’ve done something, Elliot!”

“Ryan Sawyer!” Ma yelled in a sad, sober tone. “Do you think it’s appropriate to do this right now—”

“I don’t care! It’s her fault!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the empty waiting room. “It’s your fault he’s dead! You did this, Elliot! I hate you!”

The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I opened my mouth to respond and defend myself, but nothing came out. Because deep down, I knew Ryan was right.

And that guilt would stay with me forever.