The suggestion makes sense, even though part of me wants to believe I can handle this on my own. "Can you recommend someone?"
"I'll have the social worker bring you some names before you leave." She touches my arm briefly. "You're doing the right thing by being here. Consistency and reassurance are exactly what she needs right now."
Back in Lily's room, I find her already drifting off to sleep. I settle into the uncomfortable chair beside her bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The fear that drove her to fake an illness, the terror of losing another parent, it's all so much for such a small person to carry.
I think about my own father, how he was always there for every game, every practice, and every moment that mattered. I'd taken that stability for granted. Lily doesn't have that luxury. She's already learned that parents can disappear, that the people you love most can be taken away without warning.
The weight of that responsibility settles over my shoulders. But I'll figure it out. I have to.
After Lily falls into a deeper sleep, I stand and stretch, my back protesting from the awkward hospital chair. The nurse at the station tells me Lily will be discharged in an hour once the paperwork is complete. I need to move, to walk off the adrenaline still coursing through my system.
The hospital corridors are quieter now, the evening shift settling into its rhythm. I wander without direction, my mind replaying Lily's confession and my promise. I'm not going anywhere. The words felt right when I said them, but now the full weight of that commitment hits me. I'm a father. Not just in biology,but in every way that matters. This little girl depends on me completely.
I turn a corner and find myself in a different wing, the signs indicating I've wandered into the cardiac care unit. I'm about to turn back when a name on a door catches my eye.
Robert Wilson.
I should keep walking. Should mind my own business and get back to Lily. But something makes me pause outside the partially open door. Through the gap, I can see Robert sitting up in bed, looking stronger than I expected. His color is better, his breathing less labored. He's reading something on a tablet, his expression focused.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I knock softly on the doorframe.
Robert's blue eyes, so like Mia's, snap up to meet mine. His expression immediately hardens with suspicion. "Can I help you?"
"Mr. Wilson? I'm Blake Morgan. I teach at Riverside Academy with your daughter." I keep my voice respectful and non-threatening. "I hope I'm not intruding."
His jaw tightens. "You're one of them."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "I'm one of Mia's friends, yes."
"Friends." Robert's laugh is bitter, rough around the edges. "That what you're calling it these days?"
I don't take the bait. Instead, I gesture to the chair beside his bed. "Mind if I sit? It's been a long night."
He studies me for a long moment, and I can see the sharp intelligence behind those eyes. Whatever else Robert Wilson might be, he's not a fool. Finally, he gives a slight nod.
I sink into the chair, suddenly aware of how exhausted I am. "My daughter collapsed at school today. They called me, said she was being rushed here by ambulance."
Robert's expression shifts slightly, something almost like concern flickering across his features. "Is she alright?"
"She's fine. Turns out she faked it." I run a hand through my hair. "She was scared. Wanted me to come get her. Didn't know how to ask for what she needed."
"How old?"
"Six. I just found out about her a few weeks ago." I meet his gaze directly. "Her mother kept her from me for almost a decade. I missed everything. First steps, first words, first day of school. All of it."
Robert's fingers tighten on his tablet. He sets it aside carefully, and I notice how much steadier his hands are than they probably were a few days ago. The man's got fight in him still. Good genes, strong constitution. Mia got that from him.
"Why are you telling me this?" His voice is gruff but not hostile.
"Because when Lily was lying in that hospital bed, looking up at me with those scared eyes, all I could think was how much time I've already lost. How many moments I can never get back." I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "And then I walked past your room and saw your name, and I thought about Mia."
His jaw clenches at the mention of her name. "My daughter made her choices."
"Did she? Or did circumstances make them for her?" I keep my tone even, conversational. This isn't a blitz play. It's more like reading the defense, finding the weak spot in their coverage. "Look, I don't know all the details of what happened between you two. That's your business, your history. But I've watched Mia these past weeks, and I can tell you she's carrying around guilt and grief that's eating her alive."
"She should have thought about that before?—"
"Before what?" I shake my head. "Mr. Wilson, I'm a football coach. I've seen plenty of kids make bad calls under pressure. The good coaches don't write them off. They help them learn, grow, come back stronger."