Part 2

My father stared at Daniel as if the words had been spoken in another language.

“What is this?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

“Daniel Brooks,” he said, pulling a business card from his jacket and offering it. “Emily’s attorney.”

Dad did not take it. His gaze went from Daniel to me, then to the tubes, IV bags, and monitor flashing beside my bed. For the first time that night, fear broke through his expression. Only briefly. Richard Carter had always known how to turn guilt into anger before anyone could force him to look at it.

“Emily, why is a lawyer here?” he asked. “You scared me half to death.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough.

“I scared you?”

His lips tightened. “You know what I mean.”

“No,” I whispered. “I really don’t.”

He moved closer, but Daniel shifted half a step between us. Not threateningly, just enough to make clear the room was no longer his.

Dad looked insulted. “I’m her father.”

“You were her emergency contact,” Daniel replied. “You are no longer.”

That hit him.

“What?”

Daniel opened a folder. “As of tonight, Emily has revoked your authority to receive medical updates, make decisions on her behalf, access her residence, access her financial accounts, or represent yourself as her next of kin for legal purposes. Her medical proxy is now her friend, Hannah Miller.”

Dad’s face reddened. “This is ridiculous. She’s drugged. She doesn’t know what she signed.”

The nurse by the door spoke at once. “Ms. Carter was evaluated before signing. She was alert, oriented, and competent.”

He looked at her like she had betrayed him.

“Emily,” he said, lowering his voice. “This is because I helped Olivia move? Seriously?”

There it was. The version he could live with. The story where I was petty, jealous, dramatic.

My weak fingers curled into the blanket.

“You were called five times,” I said. “The surgeon told them I might not make it. You said Olivia needed you.”

“She had movers cancel at the last minute. She was crying. I thought—”

“You thought I would wait.”

Silence.

The machines kept beeping, steady and uncaring.

Dad rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t understand how serious it was.”

Daniel took a printed call log from the folder. “The nurse told you your daughter was in critical condition. She told you surgery was urgent. She told you sepsis had begun.”

Dad looked at the page but would not take it.

“I was overwhelmed,” he said.

I studied him. My whole life, I had searched that face for regret, tenderness, some proof that beneath the favoritism and excuses was a father who loved me the way he loved Olivia.

All I saw was fear of consequences.

Daniel continued. “There is one more matter. Emily has also amended the ownership and beneficiary structure of the Carter House Trust.”

Dad froze.

The Carter House was not only a house. It had been my mother’s. She left it to me when she died because Dad had already spent most of their savings trying to keep Olivia comfortable after college. I let him live there rent-free for six years because he was my father.

Dad’s voice lowered. “Emily.”

I turned toward him.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I almost died tonight,” I said. “And you chose Olivia’s furniture.”

His jaw worked, but nothing came out.

Daniel closed the folder.

“Mr. Carter, you will receive formal notice within seventy-two hours. For tonight, hospital security has been informed that Emily does not want visitors unless she approves them.”

Dad’s eyes sharpened. “You’re kicking me out?”

I held his stare.

“No,” I said. “I’m letting you feel what it’s like to call for family and get no one.”

For once, Richard Carter had no answer.

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