Twenty Eight

Mason sat quietly beside his father’s hospital bed, his fingers drumming absently on the cold steel of the armrest. The steady beeping of machines was the only sound in the room. Charles’s chest rose and fell slightly, with the aid of the oxygen mask. Although Mason sat close to his father, he felt as if his father were miles away.

"Why didn't you tell me about your heart sooner? We'd have found a solution for it earlier," Mason's voice was barely above a whisper, more for himself than his unconscious father. "Instead, you kept such a huge thing from me."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You never tried to explain what happened between you and Margaret," Mason continued. "You just let me believe that you’d forgotten about Mom. Maybe if you’d talked to me, our relationship wouldn’t have been so bad." His voice wavered slightly, breaking through his calm facade.

Mason sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "You just do things without caring how bad it mak