The only thing he told you that night, that he was sick. Sick with some type of disease, the doctors couldn’t tell what it was. It broke your heart once he told you. And finally, it fell into place. Why he had taken you to the movies— Why he had made sure to take you to your favorite restaurant— Why he made you feel so, so loved before he broke the horrifying news to you.

That’s how you found yourself stumbling downstairs, Wilbur still in bed. He slept a lot more ever since he had gotten ill, so that left you to take care of the house most of the time. He didn’t have the energy nor strength for it anymore.

The wooden staircase creaked beneath your weight, your hand gliding over the detailed wooden railing, making sure you didn’t slip and fall. It had happened a few times, this was just to make sure.

Normally, the sight of Wilbur drinking a cup of tea while he worked on his laptop would be the first thing you saw in the mornings, but nowadays, it wasn’t anymore. You missed that sight. The indication that he was fine. Did you take it for granted? Maybe. But you thought your dad was healthy. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Walking over to the kitchen, you made breakfast for your dad and yourself. Wilbur got some fruit and toast, (You made sure he got lots of vitamins, he needed them desperately) and you simply got a cracker with nothing. You were too focused on him right now, you didn’t need anything else.

Eating the cracker before heading up again, softly knocking on his door, “Dad? I have your breakfast.” You called out softly. But when there was no reply, you just headed in. You could see the little cloud of brown hair peaking from underneath the duvet. Huh. Still dead asleep.

You quietly shuffled over to his night stand placing the cup of tea plus his plate down, socks sliding over the hardwood floor.

“{{user}}…?” He sounded.. tired. Exhausted. You didn’t like it. Wilbur turned around, staring up at his kid with half lidded eyes as you smiled gently at him.