One of the men noticed me first. "Miss Hart?" I met his gaze and the others looked my way too.
I didn't answer. I brushed past him and reached for the ICU door but a firm hand caught my arm. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "The doctors are still inside."
I pulled against his grip. "Let me go. My father is in there." His hand fell away, but he remained where he was. There was sympathy in his eyes, and I already hated it.
"You shouldn't..."
Before he could finish, the ICU doors swung open. Two nurses hurried out, pushing an empty stretcher and the doctor followed, pulling off a pair of gloves.
His gaze settled on me. "Family of Mr. Victor Hart?"
I stepped forward immediately. "I'm his daughter."
The doctor glanced over me, taking in my rain-soaked clothes that were only beginning to dry before nodding.
"You may see him, but only for a minute. He needs complete rest, so please don't let him speak for long."
I was already moving before he finished. The room was brightly lit, yet it felt strangely empty. Machines surrounded the bed where my father lay, each screen quietly tracking the fight his body was still putting up.
I stopped. For a heartbeat, I couldn't recognize the man lying there. An oxygen mask covered half his face.
The strong hands that had spent years sketching building plans and lifting me onto his shoulders now rested on the white bedsheet.
"Dad..." My voice quivered and my eyes stung. I walked to the bedside on shaking legs, one step at a time, and wrapped both hands around his. They were cold. Far colder than they should have been.
A lump formed in my throat and I squeezed my eyes shut. I tightened my grip as though the warmth in my body could somehow find its way into his. Only that morning, he had left home wearing the same navy suit he insisted brought him luck before every important meeting. Now he looked like a man the world had drained of everything.
"I'm...sorry, Papa." I didn't even know what I was apologizing for anymore.
A tear slipped down my cheek before I realized I was crying. "I'm here," I whispered. "You don't have to worry anymore."
His fingers twitched beneath mine. I froze, still sniffing. I stared at them, blinking in rapid succession.
His eyelids fluttered open. For a few seconds, his gaze wandered aimlessly across the room before settling on me. When his eyes finally found me, the tension in his face eased.
"Mona..." His voice was little more than a breath. I leaned closer so he would not have to struggle.
He tried to lift his hand but it barely moved. I quickly held it between both of mine. "You scared me," I whispered, forcing a smile through my tears."Don't you dare do that again."
The corner of his lips lifted into the faintest smile but it disappeared almost immediately. He drew a slow, uneven breath before speaking again.
"I'm... sorry."
I frowned.
"Why are you apologizing?"
His fingers tightened weakly around mine. "I... failed you."
"No," I shook my head."It wasn't your fault."
He looked at me for a long moment. There was sadness in his eyes, but something else was there too. Guilt.
"I couldn't..."
He stopped, struggling to catch his breath.
"I couldn't protect..."
The heart monitor quickened. A nurse who had been observing quietly stepped forward at once. Dad ignored her. His eyes never left mine.
"Listen to me..."
I tightened my hold on his hand and nodded. "Okay."
"You must..." Another painful breath. "...forgive me."
Confusion washed over me. "Dad?"
His voice cracked. "I had... no choice."
Before I could ask what he meant, the monitor beside the bed began beeping faster. The nurse immediately pressed the emergency button.
His lips moved one last time. "H..." I bent closer."Dad?"
"H..." He tried again. "...him..."
Within seconds, the doctor and another nurse rushed back into the room. "Miss Hart."
His voice remained calm, but his expression had changed. "We need you to step outside."
I shook my head. "I'm staying."
He sighed. "You can't."
"He needs me."
"He needs us to keep him alive." The firmness in his voice left no room for argument.
The words struck harder than I expected, and I let go of my father's hand. As the nurses gathered around his bed, the doctor gently guided me toward the door.
I looked back one last time. Dad was still watching me. Not with fear or pain. With the quiet desperation of someone trying to say something he no longer had the strength to speak.
The ICU doors closed. I stood motionless, staring through the narrow glass panel while doctors moved quickly around his bed.
"Miss Hart." I turned at the sound of my name. The man who had stopped me outside the ICU was waiting a few steps away, a slim leather folder tucked beneath one arm.
He walked over slowly before offering a polite nod. "My name is Daniel Reeves. I have served as your father's attorney for many years."
I looked back at the ICU. "If this is about the company, I don't want to hear it."
"It isn't." His answer came without hesitation.
"It is about your father." That made me face him. He held out the folder. "Your father instructed me to place this in your hands the moment you arrived."
I looked at it but made no move to take it. "I don't understand."
"You are not supposed to. Not yet." His voice remained steady, but there was an urgency beneath it that I could not ignore.
He then placed the folder gently into my hands and it was heavier than I expected. Daniel didn't let go of the folder immediately. His fingers remained on it for a brief second, as though the weight of it wasn't measured in paper but in the decision it carried. His expression was calm, yet there was something unusually tired in his eyes.
"Open it before it's too late."
I looked down at the folder.
