When we get to the hospital, Daddy’s already in the waiting room. He’s sitting in a chair, hugging his briefcase, staring at the ground. Even though he’s in his lawyer clothes, his scared little-boy face is in full effect.

See, this is exactly what I was trying to tell Cole. I hate seeing Daddy like this. Whenever I catch him this way, everything inside me plunges toward the place he must’ve gone when he was eight after hearing both of his parents died in a car accident. An endless pit with no sound or light.

I hope Daddy hasn’t been sitting around his rental house like this. The thought of it makes me want to tell him that I chose him. Makes me want to tell him that I’m going to his place after surgery today.

When he sees us, he wipes himself clean of the little boy and stands up.

Without thinking, I run to him.

As I slam into his chest, he hugs me tight, lifting my feet off the floor. “Hey, Angel-face,” he says.

“Hey, Daddy,” I say, and as my feet touch the ground, my stomach growls super loud, like it’s saying Hi, too.

“Hungry, huh?” Daddy says, and laughs. “Yeah, I remember when I tore my ACL in college and couldn’t eat the night or morning before surgery. It was awful.”

I’ve heard about his ACL a million times. Everybody has. He tore it mid-season of his senior year at Kentucky. Left knee. Says it’s what ruined his chances of going to the league. But right now I can hear about his ligament all day. Every word he speaks is filling up the massive hole his absence is digging inside me.

I want to tell him how strange it’s been not having him home. How I’ve been missing his morning pancakes, the smell of his aftershave, the sight of his socks on barstools and sofas and tables, and his keys, especially his keys. But nothing comes out.

“Hey, Dad,” Cole says, right behind me.

Dang, already? I feel like the girls on The Bachelor when someone interrupts their one-on-one time too soon. But I act like the bigger person and step aside.

Mom doesn’t come into the waiting room. She’s in the lobby, talking to the reception lady behind the large, circular desk. Mom must feel my eyes on her because she glances in my direction through her oversized shades before pointing toward a hallway. The reception lady nods, and Mom turns away and waves at us to follow her.

Walking down the hall, Mom’s ahead with Cole and I’m lagging back with Daddy.

“How’s the new place?” I ask Daddy, hoping it’s full of those manila folders and flip-top boxes he’s always bringing home from work. Better to be working than sitting around sad.