We pull into the hospital and park, making our way through a maze of garages and elevators and hallways until we meet up with my dad in the waiting room. He’s pacing back and forth.

‘Hi, pumpkin,’ he says, greeting me with a bear hug. I surrender to his smell, which has been the same my whole life. For the first time since I landed, I don’t feel trapped to be back in Columbus. I feel relieved.

‘Millie doesn’t quite look like herself,’ he says, pulling back from our embrace and squinting at me. There are deep lines of worry across his forehead, and his hair looks like he hasn’t combed it in days.

‘OK,’ I say. My voice echoes, sounding small in the hospital hallway.

‘Well . . .’ He pauses, checking his watch, which he’s worn for as long as I can remember. It’s gold and chipped around the edges. ‘We’re right on time. Visiting hours just started.’

I gulp. Now that I’m here, I am overcome with nerves. I drag my feet as I follow my dad towards Millie’s room. There’s a folder outside with her name on it. I try to wriggle behind my mom, but she sidesteps me, forcing me forward.

‘She’ll be so excited to see you,’ Mom reminds me under her breath. She nudges me inside.

Everything smells like disinfectant. The tiles on the floor are scratched and beige coloured. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead.

‘Hi, honey,’ my dad says, pulling up a chair next to the bed. Millie’s reclined underneath hospital blankets. Her skin is pale, and her cheeks look gaunt, like she’s lost ten pounds since I’ve last seen her. Her chest is bandaged, and the gauze is visible under the neckline of her hospital gown. Her eyes are closed.

There are tubes hooked up to a machine that beeps next to her, fluids running into her arm from a bag next to the bed.

I choke back a sob. I’m not sure if I’m relieved that she’s OK or terrified of the condition she seems to be in. Mom squeezes my hand.

‘Millie,’ she says, stepping closer to the bed and resting a hand on my sister’s forearm. Millie stirs this time, awakening slowly, clearly disoriented.

Her eyes find mine right away.

‘Hey, you,’ she says. Her voice is weak and hoarse.

‘An—’ My dad gestures to an empty seat and I take it.

‘So?’ She coughs after she asks me, and my mom passes her a glass of water.

My parents exchange a confused glance, but I know exactly what she’s asking about. ‘I saw one,’ I tell Millie, leaning closer to her. ‘I don’t exactly have proof yet, I still need to get the dive log signed, but they’re alive, I promise.’