I Don't Want A Bloody Dad!

You'd Better Start Believing Then

[[Frank’s pov.]]
Look at her. She looks so … peaceful.
She’s not moving. Not breathing.
Not living.

“Mr. Iero? We have to switch off her machine now. She’s not going to recover.”
I looked up from my daughter’s bedside. It was just me, her and her doctor in her room at the moment. I told him I didn’t want the others in here. Just me. I’m family.
I turned my head back to my daughter. Her hair was askew over her face. Her full fringe lying lopsided. I reached out my hand and fixed it for her. And I wiped off some of the smeared eyeliner under her motionless eyes.
Now she looks perfect. Almost like she’s asleep.
Almost.
“Mr. Iero? Are you ready?”
“Has she got any chance?”
“Not unless you believe in miracles.”
So no then.
I sighed and grabbed my daughter’s hand. It was cold, and not moving. Not even a flinch.
“Yes. Go.”
I kept my eyes on her as the switch was flipped, and the beeping ceased.
I could feel the tears silently escape my eyes, sliding down my cheeks in a race.
Until I was drowning in my sorrow.
My daughter is dead.
All because of me.

I collapsed onto the room floor sobbing, taking her hand with me.
I was rocking forwards and backwards on the floor when I could hear the beeping again.
I looked up to the doctor and choked on my words, “I thought you turned the machine off?”
He just stared at me, in the same position he was in when I fell.
“I did.”
I stumbled up, and looked frantically around me, “Why the hell is it beeping again then.”
The doctor looked dumbstruck, making me even more confused as I choked for air between sobs.
“Well? Why’s it beeping?”
He turned to me, his eyes wide in confusion, and I think I saw some fear in there too.
“Do you believe in God Mr. Iero?”
What the fuck????
“No I don’t.”
“Do you believe in miracles?”
“No. Why are you asking me this?”
“Your daughter … she’s…she’s…”
“She’s what!?!”

And then I felt her hand flinch, her fingers moving slowly in mines.
And I turned to see my daughter’s eyes, swivelling slowly behind her eyelids, her chest rising and falling slowly.
My sobs stopped.
“Scarlet? Are you….”
I turned quickly to the doctor. What was going on? My daughter’s just died! How can she be moving?
He just looked at my eyes.
“You’d better start believing then.”
And he left to tell the others what had happened, leaving me gasping for breath as I watched my daughter breath again.