“You’re not alright,” Khrista protested with a sniffle. She was crying, although she’d gotten a better hold of herself now.

She adored her father. She practically grew up in the café, wanting to be like him. To see him in pain like that, and being unable to help — it was crushing her, too.

She hugged him a little tighter, but was careful not to deprive him of any more air. She wanted to get him to his room so he could rest properly, but she wasn’t sure she could manage that by herself. Maybe when the doctor came.