The drive to South Muskoka Memorial Hospital felt longer than any two hours I had ever lived through.
Every red light felt personal.
Every slow driver in front of me felt like an obstacle placed there to keep me away from my daughter.
I kept replaying Lily’s voice over and over.
“Dad… I felt both his hands on my back.”
Those words sat in my chest like a weight.
I had spent years teaching Lily how to trust her instincts. How to speak up when something felt wrong. How to never let anyone convince her that her own memories weren’t real.
And yet somehow, when it mattered most, she was alone in a hospital room trying to convince everyone that she knew what happened to her.
By the time I pulled into the hospital parking lot, my hands were shaking.
I rushed through the entrance and immediately saw a nurse behind the front desk.
