The hospital lobby smelled sharply of antiseptic and cleaning solution.
Adrian rushed toward the reception desk, barely able to speak.
“My daughter,” he said quickly. “Lila Whitaker.”
The nurse’s expression shifted the moment she checked the chart.
Concern crossed her face.
“Pediatric trauma unit,” she said softly. “Third floor.”
Trauma.
The word hit him like a sudden weight.
The elevator ride lasted less than a minute, but it felt endless. Adrian stared at the glowing numbers as they slowly climbed.
When the doors opened, a doctor stood waiting.
He introduced himself as Dr. Rowan Hale.
Before Adrian could ask anything, the doctor placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“She’s awake,” he said carefully. “But she’s in a lot of pain. Try to stay calm when you go in.”
Adrian nodded, though calm was the last thing he felt.
The hospital room was dim and quiet except for the steady beeping of monitors.
Lila looked impossibly small in the bed.
Her face was pale against the white pillow.
But Adrian’s eyes stopped at her hands.
Both of them were wrapped in thick white bandages, resting on small cushions.
“Daddy?”
Her voice was fragile, barely louder than the machines around her.
Adrian moved beside the bed and knelt so he could see her face.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’m right here.”
He wanted to hug her, but he was afraid of hurting her.
“What happened?” he asked gently. “Did you fall?”
Lila’s eyes flickered nervously toward the doorway.
Then she whispered.
“Please don’t let her come in.”
Adrian frowned.
“Who, honey?”
Lila swallowed, her voice trembling.
“Brianna.”
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