I kicked the back of his knee, sending him sprawling, then quickly stepped back to stand protectively in front of the bed. Michael scrambled to his feet, clutching his injured shoulder, his eyes burning with hatred. He was about to lunge at me, but just then, I yanked the blanket off the other side of the bed, revealing the CPR mannequin with its wires connected to the still beeping monitor. Michael stopped, his face a mask of confusion.
“What? What is that?”
I calmly switched off the monitor’s alarm, disconnected the leads from the mannequin, and reattached them to Arthur’s chest. The screen flickered, then came back to life. The EKG was no longer the chaotic scribble of death, but a strong, steady rhythm. 85 beats per minute. Blood pressure 120 over 80. The soft rhythmic beep replaced the frantic alarm. The room fell into a terrifying silence.
“How? How is that possible? Dad?”
Michael staggered backward, bumping into the medicine cart and sending bottles crashing to the floor. His face was as white as a sheet. In his mind, his father should have been at death’s door. Why were his vital signs normal?
“He’s fine, Michael,” I said coldly. “He’s much stronger than you think.”
And then the most terrifying thing possible for Michael happened. Arthur, the man he believed was deep in a coma, opened his eyes. They were no longer dull and clouded, but sharp and blazing with an anger that had festered for 8 years. He slowly raised a hand, his arm thin, but wiry, trembling with effort, and pushed the cloth from his forehead. He propped himself up on his elbows, struggling to sit up. I rushed to his side, supporting his back and arranging pillows behind him. Michael was frozen to the spot, his knees beginning to tremble. He stared at his father as if he were seeing a ghost.
“Dad, you’re you’re awake?”
Arthur didn’t answer immediately. He sat there as imposing as a mountain. Though his body was wasted by illness, the spirit of the old soldier was intact. He took a deep, shuddering breath and fixed his gaze on his only son. His eyes held no love, only profound disappointment and soulc crushing pain. Michael shrank back, his eyes darting around for an escape, but I was blocking the door. He was a rat trapped in a corner. Arthur stared at Michael, his dry lips moving. It took him a long moment to control the muscles in his jaw, but when he spoke, his voice was a low, horse rasp that echoed in the silent room.
“I have no son.”
The short broken sentence carried the weight of a thousand judgments. It wasn’t a curse, shouted in anger. It was a declaration of disownment, the most brutal moral sentence a father could pronounce upon his child. Michael collapsed to the floor.
“Dad, please let me explain. I was just trying to end your suffering. I’m in so much debt. I had no choice.”
Silence. Arthur roared with all his might, the effort turning his face crimson.
“You tried to kill me eight years ago. Wasn’t that enough? Now you try again.”
