She peered into the darkened room, unsure if she was permitted to cross the threshold. The nurse was pushing a syringe of clear fluid into the elderly man’s arm. Across the monitor over the nurse’s head floated wavy lines of various colors; they raced each other to the right edge of the screen, but never reached their destinations. Only the sounds of mechanical breathing filled the room.

The nurse caught sight of the woman in the doorway.

“Hi,” he said. Implicit in his greeting was a question of the woman’s identity.

“Hi,” the woman responded. She readjusted the strap of the purse slung over her left shoulder and cleared her throat. “I’m his daughter. I just got in; it took me longer to get across the state than I had hoped.”

“Hi,” the nurse greeted again, satisfied with her answer. “And your name is…?”

After exchanging initial pleasantries, he asked her what she knew.

Her thin fingers fidgeted with the middle button of her dark blazer before she tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her right ear. She rolled her glossy cranberry lips into her mouth and looked down, causing all of her hair to fall forward to obscure her face. She hesitated for a moment before raising her head again, her grey eyes swimming in tears that had yet to fall onto her face.

“My understanding,” she began, her voice quiet and unnaturally composed, “is that a semi-truck slammed into his car on the highway three days ago.”

The nurse nodded and looked at the unconscious man, as if waiting for him to confirm her story.

“The doctors rounded earlier in the day. If you have any questions, I can page them, but they are likely in the operating room right now,” the nurse explained.

“I can wait,” she answered, shifting her weight onto her right leg. The heel of her shoe clicked conspicuously against the tiled floor. “I’d like to know how he’s doing, what the doctors think will happen….”

“I can let them know,” the nurse answered. “He’s had an uneventful stay so far.”

She gingerly placed her slender hand onto her father’s arm. It was warm and puffy; his skin felt like spongy, heated rubber. Her eyes surveyed his body: Numerous black wires sprung from his chest; a clear, segmented tube slithered out of his slackened mouth to a machine at the side of his bed; several bags holding solutions of various pale colors dangled from the pole at the head of the bed; his right arm was wrapped in a thick, ivory cast; a black, opened-toed boot peeked out from under the sheet at the foot of the bed. The left half of her father’s face was purple and blue. His dark hair, greasy and thick, was swept out of his face.

She listened to the machine breathe for her father.

Her fingers stroked his warm skin and with each movement of her hand, the sapphire stone on her index finger glittered in the dim light. She let her purse tumble from her shoulder and, continuing to watch her father’s stony face, deftly caught it before placing it on the table behind her.

The nurse, sensing the unspoken cue, quietly slipped out of the room.

As his footfalls faded into the ambient noise in the hallway, she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes then glanced up at the monitor with the wavy lines and different colored numbers. Her hand continued to caress his arm.

She cleared her throat and leaned forward. Her dark hair spilled onto his chest as she whispered into his ear.

“I hope you can hear me, Dad,” she began, carefully enunciating each word. “I want you to hear this.”

She paused.

“I hope you die,” she quietly continued. “I hope you are in pain. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to hear that you were in a car accident. I was so disappointed to learn that you didn’t die. I didn’t come right away because I hoped that you wouldn’t survive. The only reason why I am here now is because everyone insisted that I come to see you.”

Her raisin-colored fingernails dug into his rubbery skin. She tightened her grip on his arm.

“I don’t want you to live. I am going to do everything in my power to make the doctors pull the plug on you—the sooner, the better.”

Overhead, the turquoise number indicating the patient’s pulse slowly increased.

“I hope you burn in hell.”

The nurse ambled back into the room and spied her leaning over her father. He silently sighed, wishing that he could offer her hope and comfort about her father’s condition. She was obviously distressed about this event.

She heard the nurse’s footsteps and instantaneously released her grip. Noticing the deep, red indentations from her fingernails on his arm, she slowly rubbed her father’s skin and sniffed loudly for effect.

Her eyes were glassy and a single tear trickled down her face when she looked at the nurse. She continued to gently rub her father’s arm and, in a wavering voice, said, “Thank you.”

The nurse nodded with sympathy. She looked one last time at her father before rushing out of the room, sniffling into her arm.