Our father was reclining in bed with a pillow propping him up. His legs were in traction, both with pure white casts. His face was pale, washed out.

Hope walked through the doorway first. His face registered surprise. He hadn't seen my sister in a year or more.

At least he could still tell us apart.

"Hi Dad. How are you feeling?" she asked.

He stared at her, then flicked his gaze to me as I shuffled in awkwardly behind her. He lowered his eyes, avoiding mine. He didn't reply.

"Has the doctor talked to you yet?" Hope continued, as if the room wasn't rife with tension.

Dad nodded shortly.

"You're going to need a lot of care," she said matter of factly. "And it's not fair to make Faith take care of you the way she's been doing. We're going to hire someone to look after you."

He nodded again.

Hope looked to me. I shrugged helplessly. I'd never known how to act around Dad, other than to pretend everything was fine. She leaned in to whisper to me.

"You need to talk to him," she murmured.

My hands shook, anxiety rising back up in my chest.

This had gone on too long. Hope was right. I had to say something.

I turned to Dad.

"Why won't you look at us?" I asked.

Dad froze, looking alarmed, no doubt at how forthright I'd been.

"I know it was hard for you, right after Mom died, but it's been years," I said, not unkindly. "You need to see someone. A therapist, a doctor, someone who can help."

Our father's face twisted with distaste.

"Faith is right," Hope jumped in. "I had no idea things had gotten this bad. If I had, I would have insisted on your going into therapy sooner. It was one thing when you threw yourself into your work, but this is different. You need help."

"I know I've been taking care of you all this time, but I just…" My voice turned choked. "I just can't do it anymore. I'm sorry, but I can't—" I had to stop, blinking back tears.

Dad looked up. He met my eyes. He was silent for long moments. Then…

"You were always the strong one," he said murmured.

I flinched. "What?"

He didn't say anything further. He shifted on the bed, turning away from me.

Just like he always did.

My temper got the better of me. I snapped.

"No," I said firmly. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to sink into silence and pretend I'm not here. Tell me what you meant."

Dad took in a deep, heavy breath. I didn't think he was going to answer. Finally, he turned back to us. His eyes were pained.

"After your mother died…" He spoke slowly, each word painstakingly chosen. "I fell apart," he admitted. "And then I lost the job. The one thing that kept me distracted. And Faith…" He flicked his eyes from mine to Hope's and back again. "You tried so hard to take care of me." He swallowed hard. "I tried, too. I would try so hard to get back to rights. Get proper sleep, eat proper food, get up and try to live a normal life." His eyes glistened. "But then something would remind me of her and I'd sink back down." Despite everything, seeing that pained gaze make my heart ache. "But I knew I could always count on you."

Confusion and doubt and pain fought a battle for dominance in my chest.

"If you felt that way, why did you always avoid me?" I asked, breath hitching. "Why did you refuse to talk to me? Why did you—"

My throat closed shut. Dad cast his eyes down, keeping them trained on the bed.

"I'm sorry," he said, but he didn't elaborate. Didn't explain why.

I forced myself to speak. "Why did you treat me like that?"

His mouth trembled. "I was ashamed," he said quietly. "Ashamed you had to see me like that. Ashamed I needed to be looked after like that."

Seeing those trembling lips, the closest to an emotion I'd seen on Dad in a long time, set something loose inside me. The tears pricking the back of my eyes fell down my cheeks.

"I never imagined you felt that way," I said. "I thought you hated me. Hated us."

"I could never hate you," he said. His voice was now as pained as his eyes. "You're my girls. My Hope and Faith. You're the only reason I didn't give up completely."

I sniffed back the tears. "I want you to get better. I want to help you get better. Just tell me what to do."

He let out a shaky breath. "You shouldn't have to do anything. Hope is right. You've been taking care of me long enough. It's time I took responsibility for myself."

"Does that mean…?" I trailed off.

"It means you're right," he said reluctantly. "I should see someone." His lips turned up, just the slightest bit. "It's about time I stopped relying on you so much."

Fresh tears sprang to my eyes.

"We'll make the arrangements," Hope said, taking over now that I was in tears. "We'll hire a personal support worker to look after you while you're in your casts, and we'll make an appointment with a therapist."

He nodded, but this time it wasn't silently.

"I'm so sorry, girls." The words were louder, stronger now. "I know I wasn't there for you the way I should have been." He gestured to his legs. "When I had my fall, the only thing I could think of was Faith coming home to see me lying there and—" He pressed his lips together and exhaled a heavy breath through his nose.

"Do you think…" I started to ask, hesitating. "Damon and Ian are waiting in the hallway. Do you want to meet them?"

He cringed back on himself, tipping his chin to his chest, shame-faced. "Not… not yet." He rubbed his chin, pads of his fingertips scratching at the stubble. "Not like this, while I'm in here."

Hope nodded in understanding.

"When you're ready, then," she said.

"When I'm ready, I'd love to have dinner with all four of you," he promised.

The smile that crossed his lips sent relief soaring through me.

A nurse poked his head in. "I'm sorry, but we need to take your father to do some more tests. You can continue your visit later."

The thee of us stared at each other, unsure how to proceed. I made the first move, taking a careful step toward Dad. He held his arm out. I stepped against the bed, leaning into his side. He wrapped his arm around my waist. Hope came up and put an arm around me, pulling me into a side hug, while taking Dad's hand and squeezing tight. I laid my head on my sister's shoulder and took my dad's other hand in mine, completing the circle.

From now on things would be different. Things would be better.

My sister and I might finally have our father back.