CHAPTER 97: 97 - DO THIS

97

~Lisa’s POV

My father’s eyes were closed, his breathing slow and shallow.

Then... he moved. His eyelids fluttered open just a little.

"Lisa..." His voice was faint, so faint I almost didn’t hear it.

I quickly leaned forward. "Dad... I’m here. I’m right here."

He looked at me weakly, his lips twitching into the smallest smile. "Sit... beside me."

I pulled my chair closer until my knees touched the side of his bed. "I’m here now. How... how are you feeling?" My voice cracked even though I was trying to sound calm.

"I’m... fine," he whispered, though it sounded like a lie.

"No, you’re not fine," I said quickly, holding his hand. His skin was cold. Too cold. "But it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend with me."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and I thought maybe he was just trying to catch his breath. His chest rose slowly, then fell with a soft wheeze. I felt the squeeze of his hand, faint, almost unnoticeable, and my stomach knotted.

When he opened his eyes again, it was like he had to force them to stay that way, as though even keeping them open was a battle. His voice came out rough and broken.

"Lisa... I... I appreciate you... Everything you’ve done for me. For being... my daughter."

It hit me like a punch in the chest. My throat tightened instantly, and I forced a smile, even though I could feel the tears already building. "Dad, you don’t need to thank me. You raised me. You were always there for me." My voice cracked halfway through, and I had to bite my lip to keep it steady.

He shook his head slowly, the motion small but deliberate. "Forgive me... for not... for not being able to help... when they bullied you." His words dragged, each one pulled from somewhere deep, like they cost him something to say.

I blinked hard, fast, trying to stop the tears. I didn’t want him to see me cry. "That’s bygone, Dad. Please don’t bring that up. I’m fine now. I can stand up for myself." My voice softened. "You taught me that."

A faint, shaky smile appeared on his lips. "You... strong girl."

I squeezed his hand tighter, needing him to feel it. "Always, because of you."

Then he coughed, a small sound at first, like he was clearing his throat, but it quickly turned into a deep, violent fit that shook his whole body. His shoulders hunched, his ribs strained, and the sound was so raw it made my chest ache.

"Dad, stop," I said quickly, panic lacing my voice. "You’re going to hurt yourself."

I reached for the cloth in the bowl of water by the bed, dabbing his forehead as his coughing subsided. His breathing was harsher now, his lips parted as if to pull in as much air as he could. Still, he shook his head again, like he was determined to push through the pain.

His voice was raspier this time, every word almost swallowed by the sound of his breathing. "Lisa... there’s something... I need to tell you... before... before it’s too late."

The words sank into me slowly, like they were dripping ice into my veins. I froze, my hand still on his. "What is it?" My voice was barely above a whisper, but I couldn’t help it; I was suddenly terrified of the answer.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to get stuck. His throat worked, his chest strained, and his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t read: guilt, fear, or maybe urgency.

I leaned closer, the blanket brushing against my arm. "Dad... what is it?" I said again, my voice trembling now. My mind began to race with possibilities, none of them good. Was it about his health? About something he’d been hiding? Something about me?

His fingers twitched in mine, a weak attempt at a squeeze. He took a slow, uneven breath, and I could feel the way his chest struggled with it, how his body almost shuddered as if pulling air was too much work.

"I just... I need you... to know..." he murmured, the words straining past his lips. His gaze locked with mine, and I saw the weight of whatever he was about to say. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t dare interrupt. I just held onto him, afraid that if I let go for even a second, I’d lose him and whatever it was he needed to tell me.

His eyes held a strange, almost unbearable sadness as he struggled to breathe. "I... I am not... your biological father," he rasped.

For a moment, my mind froze. My heart slammed painfully against my ribs. "What? Dad, please, don’t say things like that right now," I pleaded, leaning closer, desperate to keep him with me, desperate for this not to be the truth.

"It’s... true," he whispered, voice trembling. "I... and your mother... we... we saw you... in a bush... tiny... crying... wrapped in... an old cloth... when I was coming... from a trip..." His words shook, breaking apart like fragile glass.

Another fit of coughing seized him, violent, wrenching his frail body. This time, dark red blood stained his lips. My stomach turned cold, my hands trembling as I wiped it away, my mind spinning with the weight of the revelation and the fear that I was losing him.

"Stop! Stop talking!" I shouted, my hands trembling as I reached for tissues, wiping his mouth. "You’re even saying nonsense now. I’m not listening. You’re my father, and that’s it."

He kept trying to talk, even as his chest heaved painfully. "Lisa... please... try... try and look... for your real parents."

"Enough!" My voice was loud now, my tears spilling. "You are my father! Do you hear me? You are my father and nothing... nothing... can change that!"

His breathing was getting weaker.

I shook my head over and over. "Please, stop talking. Save your strength. We can talk about... whatever this is later, okay? Just stay with me. Please..." My voice broke. "Please don’t leave me, Dad."

His hand squeezed mine faintly. "My... daughter..."

"No! Don’t say it like that. Don’t make it sound like goodbye."

I felt the tremor in his fingers stop.

"Dad? Dad!" My voice cracked as I shook him gently. "Please... please open your eyes. Please don’t do this to me!"

Then he stopped coughing, and his eyes were closed.

"No... no, no, no..." I broke down, my head on his chest, sobbing so hard it hurt. "You’re my father... you’ll always be my father..."

The room was silent, except for my cries.