Ross had been in the Raft for over a year at this point. Locked away deep inside, time freezing since there was no sunlight, no darkness. Just a constant medical light and drone of electronics.
He never once complained, but he wasn't looking good at all. He looked pale, he was growing thinner. As if his age was rushing as fast as it could to catch up with him.
There was talks of maybe soon seeing if he could be moved to a team as part of his sentence, but the way the old general looked now....he might not make it that far.
Betty stood just beyond the reinforced glass, her heart squeezing at the sight of him.
It had been years since sheโd last seen her father in person, and in that time, sheโd told herself a thousand different stories about how this moment would go. Sometimes she imagined herself furious, laying into him with every word sheโd swallowed over a lifetime of battles, both with him and because of him.
Other times, she pictured walking away without saying a thing at all. But nothing had prepared her for this: the sight of him pale, thinner than sheโd ever remembered, the weight of his years finally catching up to him inside a cage that allowed no night and no day, only the hum of fluorescent light.
โYou always said nothing could break you,โ she whispered, voice trembling though she fought to steady it. โAnd maybe I believed that once. But nowโฆโ She shook her head, struggling between pity and the old edge of resentment. โNow you look human. Fragile, even. And thatโs harder for me to see than the general who used to bark orders loud enough to drown out every other sound.โ
Her hand hovered near the glass, not quite touching, as if closing that gap would admit too much. โI donโt even know how to talk to you anymore. Part of me is still that daughter who wanted you to be proud. The other part-โ Her throat tightened, old bitterness spilling into her tone. โThe other part remembers every time you chose the mission over me. Over us.โ
She looked up at him then, meeting his hollowed eyes with her own, and for a moment her anger faltered, the softer truth breaking through. โI should hate you more than I do. God knows you gave me every reason. But standing here, seeing you like this, I canโt. Not completely. Not when you look like a man who doesnโt have much left.โ
A fragile smile ghosted across her lips, fleeting and sad. โSo maybe this is the cruel irony: youโre still my father, no matter how far apart weโve been. And I canโt just watch you fade away in this place.โ
Finally, she pressed her palm to the cold glass, the barrier colder than she expected. Her voice dropped, steadier now but heavy with all the years left unsaid. โSo listen to me, Dad. You donโt get to give up here. Not in this box. Not before weโve had it out, before weโve said everything we shouldโve years ago. You owe me that. You owe yourself that. To face me, to face us, before you let go.โ
She let the silence stretch, her hand unmoving, her eyes never leaving his. โDonโt make me mourn a man I never got to understand.โ
