SilverI stepped out of my room, the drip attached to my arm trailing behind me like a reluctant leash. The pain was still there, a dull ache that pulsed with every step, but I needed a nurse. Something about the medication, it wasn't sitting right, or maybe it was just me, my body rejecting everything like it had rejected peace for as long as I could remember.I shuffled down the hallway, one hand gripping the metal pole that held my IV bag, the other pressed against my side where the wound throbbed beneath the bandages. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too white, making everything look sterile and soulless.And then I saw him. My feet stopped. My breath left my lungs like I'd been punched.No. It can't be.But it was. It was him. Henry's father. Mr. Williams.He stood at the end of the hallway, talking to a doctor, his profile unmistakable even from this distance. The same face, the same silver-streaked hair I had seen him in pictures. I couldn't be mistaken. The
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