The neighbor tried to comfort them, but his words seemed to come from far away, muffled by the buzzing of fear that filled the girls’ ears. “Can you come with him in the ambulance?” one of the paramedics said, noticing the desperation in the girls’ eyes. “You’re his daughters, aren’t you? Come. Stay together. Your father needs you now.” The ride to the hospital was a blur of lights, sounds, and fear. Sitting on a small bench inside the ambulance, the three girls held hands tightly as they watched the paramedics work on their father.
Ivan, now with an oxygen mask covering part of his face, kept his eyes fixed on his daughters whenever the pain allowed. There was a silent plea in that gaze, a supplication for them to remain strong, united, as they had always been since birth. “He’ll be okay. Please say he’ll be okay,” Iris asked the paramedic monitoring Ivan’s vital signs. “He’s the best father in the world. He can’t. He can’t.”
Upon arriving at the community hospital, the organized chaos of an emergency enveloped everyone. Ivan was quickly transferred to a hospital gurney and wheeled down a corridor, while the triplets ran to join him. Their small legs could barely keep up with the adults. A nurse gently tried to hold them back, explaining that they needed to wait, but the determination in Laya’s eyes made her reconsider. Understanding the situation, she allowed the girls to stay close, as long as they didn’t interfere with the medical team’s work.
“Doctor, these are your triplet daughters. From what I understand, they have no one else,” the nurse explained to the doctor who was now examining Iván. “I think it’s best to let them see their father when he’s stabilized. The situation seems complicated.” The following hours passed in a cold, impersonal waiting room, with the triplets sitting together in a single seat, as if merging into one could somehow lessen their fear. Nurses occasionally passed by offering glasses of water or asking kind questions that the girls barely registered.
The clock on the wall seemed to move in slow motion, each minute stretching into an hour. Laya kept her arm around Iris’s shoulders as she wept silently, while Isabel watched every movement in the corridor, calculating, analyzing, searching for any sign of hope. “He always took care of everyone,” Iris whispered, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her dress. “He never complained, even when he was exhausted. Why did this have to happen to him?” When the triplets were finally allowed to see their father, he had been transferred to a small but private room, a courtesy extended to a fellow doctor, even though he worked at a different hospital.
Ivan lay in bed, connected to several monitors and with an IV in his arm. His skin, normally a healthy tone, was grayish under the hospital’s fluorescent lights. But his eyes, those eyes that always overflowed with love for his daughters, still shone when they entered the room. “My little warriors,” Ivan called weakly, extending a trembling hand toward them. “Come closer. I need to take a good look at you.” The girls approached cautiously, frightened by the tubes and machines, but desperate for the comfort only their father could offer.
They climbed onto the edge of the bed, one on each side and one at the foot, forming a protective circle around him. Laya held Father Isabel’s right hand, his left, while Iris gently touched his feet, covered by the hospital sheet. The nurse adjusting the monitors exchanged a meaningful glance with the doctor who had just entered, both acknowledging the beauty and tragedy of the scene. “You were so brave today. I’m so proud of how you acted,” Ivan said, each word clear, though it took a tremendous effort.
“You are the light of my life. You always were from the very first moment.” The triplets sensed that something was profoundly wrong. It wasn’t just their father’s pallor or the medical equipment around them; it was something in the air, in the way the adults avoided looking directly at them, in the way their father spoke, as if he were trying to cram a lifetime of love into a few sentences. Isabel, always the most perceptive, was the first to understand, and her eyes filled with a knowledge too painful for her age.
“Dad, you’re going to be all right soon, aren’t you?” Iris asked, still clinging to the hope that the other two were beginning to lose. “We’ll be able to go home and play doctor again, right?” Ivan gazed at each of his daughters, memorizing every feature, every freckle, every strand of hair. There was so much he wanted to tell them, so much advice he wanted to give them, so many experiences he would like to share with them over the years. How could he explain to seven-year-old girls that their time together was coming to an end?
How could he prepare them for a world that would be infinitely harder without him to protect them? My little ones remember the stories I tell them about Mom. How she was brave and strong, even when she was afraid. Ivan took a deep breath, gathering his strength. Sometimes, even when we love someone very much, we can’t stay together as we’d like. But love, love never ends. With trembling hands, Ivan reached into the pocket of his hospital shirt, pulling out a silver medallion he always carried with him. It was one of the few tangible mementos he had of his late wife.
A gift she had given him before the triplets were born. Inside was a photo of them together, young and smiling, full of hope for the future they planned with their daughters. This locket is very special. Inside it are the two people who loved them most and always will. No matter what happens, their mother and I, explained Ivan, opening the locket to show the photograph. Now I want it to belong to the three of you.
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