CHAPTER 98: 98 - WHOLE WORLD

98

~Lisa’s POV

I gripped my father’s hand tighter, feeling his fingers slacken in mine.

"Papa... please don’t close your eyes. Please, not yet." My voice cracked, tears blurring my vision. "You promised me... You promised you wouldn’t leave me."

"No, no, you can’t say that like it’s the end!" I cried out. "You’ll be fine... We’ll go to the river tomorrow like we planned, remember? You’ll get better."

"Papa?" I shook him gently, panic flooding my chest. "Papa! Please, open your eyes!"

That’s when the door opened and the doctor walked in, his white coat swaying as he hurried toward the bed. I almost jumped at him, grabbing his arm.

"Please! Please check him! I think he just fainted or... or something! He was just talking to me!"

The doctor pulled away gently, moving to my father’s side. He pressed two fingers to his neck, then to his wrist. His face was calm, but there was this coldness in his eyes that told me something I didn’t want to hear.

After a moment, he looked at me and sighed. "Lisa... I’m sorry. He’s gone."

"No!" My scream echoed against the walls. "No, that can’t be! You’re wrong! You must be wrong... he was just talking to me!"

"I’m sorry," he repeated softly.

I shook my head violently, my nails digging into my palms. "Stop saying that! He’s not gone! Papa, wake up! Please!" I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently as if I just did it enough, he’d open his eyes and smile like always.

The doctor’s voice felt far away, muffled under the weight of the world pressing down on me. "I’ll... leave you to say goodbye."

I didn’t even notice the sound of the door closing. Everything ceased to exist. All that mattered was the heavy, terrible stillness in my father’s chest and the icy chill that had begun to seep into his skin.

"Don’t leave me here," I whispered, the words breaking apart as sobs shook my body. My forehead rested against the back of his hand, clinging to that familiar warmth that was fading too quickly. "You know I can’t do this without you. You’re all I have... Papa, please... please."

The silence was deafening, so much louder than my cries. Time blurred into something meaningless.

At some point, my exhaustion dragged me under. My tears had soaked through his shirt, my voice worn to a dry rasp from begging for what I knew, deep down, I couldn’t have.

When I woke, it was still night. The room was steeped in shadows, the air heavy and cold. My eyes burned, gritty from hours of crying, and my head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache.

He hadn’t moved. My father lay exactly as before, still, silent, but colder now. My fingers trembled as I brushed them against his cheek, and in that instant, memories came crashing over me, hitting so hard it felt like my chest might cave in.

I saw him bending down to tie my shoelaces when I was five, his big, rough hands fumbling gently with the laces as if they were made of glass. I had been impatient, wanting to run back to the playground, but he’d smiled at me in that patient way of his, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "We can’t have you tripping and hurting those little legs," he’d said, his voice warm like a blanket fresh out of the sun. I hadn’t known then how rare such patience was. Now, the memory felt like a precious jewel locked in my chest, one I would never be able to hold again.

I saw him carrying me on his shoulders so I could reach the apple tree in our backyard. I’d squealed with laughter, clutching his hair for balance as he told me, "Hold on tight, little one. These apples won’t pick themselves." I remembered the way his laughter rumbled through me, making me feel safe, like the world could never touch me as long as he was there. The apples had been red and sweet, but nothing tasted sweeter than that feeling, being up high, above everything, knowing my father’s strong arms would never let me fall.

I saw him working late into the night, hunched over his small desk with papers spread everywhere, the dim yellow lamp casting tired shadows across his face. I had tiptoed into the room once, holding my blanket, and he’d noticed me immediately. "Can’t sleep?" he had asked softly. When I’d shaken my head, he pulled me onto his lap despite his exhaustion, wrapping the blanket around both of us. "Just a little longer, and I’ll be done," he had promised. Only later, when I was older, did I understand that "a little longer" meant hours, and "done" meant ensuring I had warm clothes in winter and food on the table even if he had to go without.

He always smiled at me, no matter how tired he was. It wasn’t the forced kind of smile you give strangers or the polite one you wear for guests, it was real, like I was the one thing in his life that made all the exhaustion worth it. Even when I’d been stubborn, or loud, or ungrateful, he’d look at me like I was still his greatest blessing. That look made me believe I could do anything, be anything.

And now, lying there, his breaths shallow and his face pale, I felt those memories crashing into me all at once, overwhelming and suffocating. The man who had been my constant, my anchor, was slipping away, and I could do nothing to stop it.

"You were my whole world, Papa," I whispered, my voice trembling as tears blurred my vision. My fingers clung to his hand, desperate to hold on to the warmth that was fading. "And now you’ve taken it with you."

The words came out cracked, almost broken, but they were true. I didn’t know how to be in a world where his laughter no longer rumbled through the walls, where no one would tie my shoelaces with patient care, where no shoulders would lift me high enough to see the world differently. I didn’t just feel like I was losing my father, I felt like I was losing the version of myself that only existed because of him.

I wanted to tell him everything, that I loved him more than I’d ever been able to say, that every sacrifice he’d made was worth more to me than gold, that I would carry his love in me until my last breath. But my throat was tight, my words trapped behind the ache in my chest. All I could do was hold his hand tighter and hope that somehow, he already knew.