Perfect
I sat beside her bed, holding her fragile, unresponsive hand in mine.
Her skin was cold. Still. And I just looked down at her, waiting for a flicker, a twitch, anything—until the tears dried on my cheeks. But still, she remained the same. Motionless. Silent.
I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just sat there, watching her breathe through machines.
I don’t know how much time passed. Minutes? Hours? It could’ve been a lifetime.
Then I heard a commotion by the door. Voices, footsteps, urgency. I didn’t turn immediately. Not until I felt someone's presence. And then he walked in.
Sarah’s father.
His eyes locked on her the moment he entered the room. I watched his face carefully, not out of respect but because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when the infamous Sullivan—head of the Irish Mafia, looked anything but composed, but a single tear slipped from his eye as he took a hesitant step forward.
It was like he was scared to find out the truth. Scared that she really was as bad as she looked.
He wiped the tear away quickly, erasing the brief moment of weakness from his face like it never happened. Then, he looked up.
And his eyes locked with mine. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a growl.
“What the fuck did you do to my daughter?”
I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath until then. I opened my mouth, but no words came. I couldn’t find an answer. I didn’t even know what answer there could be.
“It was an accident,” came my father’s voice behind me.
That’s when I realized, we weren’t alone in the room.
Sullivan hadn’t come by himself. Two of his sons flanked him, both of them tense, shoulders squared, eyes scanning like guards on the edge of a fight. It looked like they were ready for war.
And behind them… my father, Cyrus, and my mother.
We were all in the room now. All of us. And as I glanced between their faces, the realization settled over me like ice in my chest.
There was tension in the air. Not just grief. Not just fear. Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
“An accident?” he scoffs, his voice sharp. “So everyone found her, huh? What kind of accident happens on your anniversary?”
His attention shifts now, turning toward my father with narrowed eyes.
“It was supposed to be a celebration. And my daughter wasn’t there. I don’t know if you locked her in the house so she wouldn’t come, or told her not to, or maybe, maybe you’d already pushed her in the water before you got to your fancy party. But I know one of you…” he sweeps his hand across the room, his finger finally landing on me, “…one of you had something to do with this.”
“It was an accident,” my father repeats firmly, “We don’t know what happened. Nobody was at the house. She was… a little drunk. But we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
“What now?” Sullivan barks, his voice rising. “You’re accusing my daughter of what? Being drunk? Are you calling her an alcoholic?”
His voice is thunder. Raw. Cracking through every corner of the room.
“When I gave her to you... when I handed her into your custody she was not an alcoholic. She was not crazy either. So don’t you dare suggest she tried to do this to herself.”
He takes a heavy step forward, pointing a trembling finger toward the hospital bed.
“She was pure. She was perfect. The most perfect girl in the whole damn world.”
His throat moves as he swallows hard, and something inside me tightens. I can feel his pain. I can feel the weight of it in my own chest.
He’s right.
Sarah was perfect. She is perfect.
I just… never saw it. Not until now. My eyes flick toward her bed. Her pale body. Her stillness.
“I was hesitant,” he continues, voice softer but no less furious. “I was hesitant to give you my daughter. But I saw the way you treated your wife. I saw how you were with her. And I thought maybe you raised your son to be the same. To protect her. To love her.”
He shakes his head in bitter disappointment.
“I should’ve known,” he whispers. “When the rumours about Cyrus mistreating his wife started spreading, I should have pulled out. I asked you about it,” he says, stabbing his finger toward my father. “I asked you if that son of yours,”... his finger turns back to me, “could be good to my daughter. And you gave me your word!”
My father closes his eyes slowly and nods, visibly carrying the weight of that promise.
“I did,” he replies quietly. “And I promise you… my son did not lay a hand on her.”
He opens his eyes and looks directly at Sullivan. But Sarah’s father doesn’t respond. He just looks at her. At his daughter. And for a moment, he looks like he might cry. Like the weight of all of it might finally break him down.
But he’s in enemy territory. And he can’t. So he doesn’t. He holds himself together.
He must really love his daughter.
Then why did he give her to me?
“You're gonna pay for this,” he says after a long, heavy silence.
“Now calm down, Sullivan,” my father responds, his voice steady but firm. “You don't want to be going through this like that, not at a time like this.”
“I know you're angry. And you have every right to be,” he continues, taking a breath. “Emotions are high, I get it. But let’s take this one moment at a time. Let’s first find out what happened... as adults. Because right now, your daughter is no longer a Sullivan. She is a Cincinnati. She is family.”
His voice softens but stays grounded. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this, and then we can talk as civilized adults. But for the time being, let’s just take care of her. Let’s make sure she’s okay.”
“I was the one who called you,” he adds. “Because I knew you would want to see your daughter. So, let’s not lead with our emotions. Let’s think about this slowly. Wisely.”
Sullivan doesn’t respond right away. His sons remain silent too. Their eyes stay fixed on him, their posture still tense. Watching. Waiting. But not once have they looked at their sister. Not even a glance.
I realize it suddenly.
They haven’t looked at her at all.
Is that… weird? Why haven’t they?
And just as that thought settles in my head, Sullivan speaks again.
“I want a moment with my daughter.”
His voice is cold now. Quiet, but commanding. Then his eyes lift and lock on me.
“Get the fuck out.”
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