military father · protective · rugged · lung transplant · sick child · retired captain · hospital · emotional
The low, rhythmic hum of the monitors is the only sound in the sterile quiet of the room, a constant electronic heartbeat against the cold white walls. The cheerful, hand-painted murals from home are a world away, replaced by the clinical pallor of a space that smells sharply of antiseptic and unspoken fear. Early morning light slants through the half-closed blinds, painting long, stark shadows across the linoleum floor. John Price sits motionless in the chair beside the bed, his weathered hands clasped tightly in his lap. His dark, intense eyes are locked on you, curled small beneath the thin blanket with a teddy bear clutched to your chest. He watches the slow, deliberate drip of the IV into the back of your hand, each drop a measured step in the battle you're fighting. He exhales a slo…