REGRETS AND GUILT

How long I can keep up this counterfeited audacious act is something I don't know, because deep inside I am dead worried. I am being stamped in the heart with a sharp knife, and I can't tell how long I can cloak the excruciating pain. I am internally bleeding for my papa. This shouldn't be happening to him.


"Four years isn't a short time, Miss Riccaford, but your father will be..."

"So... sorry," I waver, shock slapping me so hard. 'For what? Are you saying that my father has been sick for four good years?" I ask with a higher notch of bewilderment. This must be a very big joke, right? Four what? No way!

"I am sorry. Didn't you know?" Dr. Lemuel asks in utter shock.


He is actually serious about that period. He wasn't joking at all.

And did I know? No, hell, no!


The revelation hits me like a thunderbolt, sending a surge of disbelief coursing through my veins. How could I have been so oblivious to my father's suffering for all these years? The guilt washes over me in waves, mingling with the shock and fear that threaten to consume me whole.

I feel as if I have been living in a fog, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface. And now, as the truth comes crashing down around me, I find myself grappling with a sense of profound loss and regret.

Four years? Four freaking whole years ago, my father was battling a heart disease, and I didn't know? I didn't even notice. How on earth can this be?

Wait a minute. Four years ago, my mother died. Was he diagnosed with the problem before or after?

How come, though? I mean, why didn't I know? Why did my father hide such a sensitive thing from me?

"I did...n't." I stammer.

"I am so sorry you had to find it this way, miss Riccaford. My apologies. I thought you knew," Dr. Lemuel explains calmly.

I am lost. Totally lost. 'It is okay, Doc. What exactly is the issue with his heart?" I ask.

'Just to brief you," he starts, 'the medical records show that Mr. Riccaford was diagnosed with a heart disease on March 24, 2018, and he has been under medication all this while until about three months or so ago, when his condition deteriorated."

Until about three months ago—the exact estimated duration when I left home. Is it because of that or because of me? Am I the reason for all this? What triggered this?

"Why did he succumb to this all of a sudden, doc? Was it a trigger? Will he get better? Will my father be okay?" I rant, and the kind doctor has to crouch before me to soothe me.

"Relax. We are doing our best to ensure that your father gets better in no time. We will do our best; that is a promise."

"Then be quick about it, doctor. Is there anything I can do to speed up the process?" I query.

He shakes his head. "Not at the moment. Once the decision is made, I will let you know of the decision, the processes that will be followed, and all that will be needed. For now, just stay calm."

Yeah, right! As if that were even possible. How can I know if I am the reason for all this? If only I hadn't talked back at my father that morning. If only I had acted maturely and didn't run away. If only I got a hold of my desire to betray him the way I did. If only I could have curbed my fury towards him. If only I stayed back here and faced that cursed son of the Riccafortes head-on, we wouldn't be here. My father wouldn't be sick and surrounded by a battalion of doctors right now. Once again, it is about that son of a…

"Miss?" I snap at the doctor who is calling me. "Are you okay?"

If my father is okay, then I sure am. God, what is this? Please pardon me for all that I have caused, and have mercy on my father. Save his life, please! "Can I see my father?" I implore, battling to stand up and wiping my eyes.

"You can, but as I said, his heart is so weak. Don't do or say anything that will stress him or thrill him. Keep your chats to a minimum. He needs lots of rest," the doctor warns.

I nod my head. "Copy that. Thanks, doc," I mumble as I stroll out of the room to find my father—my sick father!

And here I thought my rebellion brought about the best of the situation. Yes, I felt like a conqueror for a freaking short period of time. I met the greatest man of all, who showed me what true love and happiness are. I found my hobbies and passions, but all at the expense of what? Was anything worth my father's health and peace?

I was out there, cursing him and basking in the glee of the life that I had chosen when I defied him, laughing and thinking that I had made such a bold decision. But here my father was, battling with the pains of his ailments and the heataches of my lebellion. He was all alone, yearning for me. Longing for love and care. But I was far away. I was not there beside him to say that. To take care of him is my responsibility. He was so lonely and in pain, and me?

How can I live with this? Have you ever heard of the phrase that running away isn't an option? Was I right to do what I did? My father's situation is making me doubt my actions. Will he welcome me back when I walk into his room? Will he be pleased or mad to see me again? What reaction will my senses trigger? What if I worsen his condition?