"Dad." A small hand slaps my arm, and as I peel my eyes open the hand slaps it again. I blink away the tiredness clogging my vision to look at Celine, standing beside my bed. "Dad." She says again.
"Hm?"
"Dad."
"Yeah?" I say, louder.
"I have a question." She whispers.
I sit up, letting out a tired breath. She wraps her blanket tighter around her shoulders, and I motion for her to sit down beside me. She does.
"What's the matter?" I ask her.
"What if it doesn't work?" She replies in a hushed voice, as though we're sharing secrets.
"We need to have hope that it will." I say.
"That isn't what I asked." She responds, "what if it doesn't work? I'll have a surgery for nothing. I won't be able to figure skate for ages. I'll probably even miss the championships, and become a failure. Everyone will forget I ever existed."
I furrow my eyebrows. When did she learn to talk about herself and her future so negatively?
"Don't say that, sweetheart." I say. "You won't be a failure. Nobody will forget about you. Like I said., we just need to hope that your surgery will work."
"What. If. It. Doesn't?"
"Then we'll look into other options and you can choose whatever you feel the most comfortable with."
She looks away from me, a frown settling on her lips. I glance over at the clock beside my bed. It's three a.m.
"Why are you awake so early?" I ask her.
"I can't sleep." She whispers.
"How come?" I question.
A conflicted expression takes over her face. She seems to have a debate with herself before settling on a shrug.
She crawls over my legs, then to the top of the bed next to me. "What if I die? What if they accidentally stab my heart?"
"They won't do that, Celine. They know what they're doing."
She frowns.
I set my hand on her shoulder, then run my fingers through her soft brown hair. I've ensured she has the best doctors for her surgery, and I wouldn't give her any less.
I wrap my arm around her and wrap her up in a hug. She grumbles, and I plant a kiss on her forehead.
Then loud knocks boom on the front door, echoing off the walls and bouncing around the rooms. I furrow my eyebrows, and Celine looks up at me, head tilted.
I let her go. "You stay here." I tell her.
She doesn't. As soon as I get off the bed, she does. I sigh and lead her out to the hall, then downstairs. I open the front door, pausing when I see my ex-wife's parents. They're older, but I still recognise them.
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Teen FictionCeline Monet has lived alone with her mother ever since she was five, when her parents got a divorce and only one won custody over her. But finally, eight years later, her father wins shared custody. After moving across the country and settling...
