Time didn’t tick; it dragged.
Each second stretched like a blade, cutting deeper into my sanity, into every inch of me that dared to hope.
I count the tea cups on the table in front of me. Four. Five. Six.
Each one cold. Untouched. Useless.
Then the door opens.
Chris steps out of the operating room, his scrubs stained, his eyes exhausted. He pulls his mask down slowly. I stand without realizing it, knees barely cooperating.
The world holds its breath.
“The surgery went well,” he says gently. “Now we have to wait for your husband to wake up. In a couple of days, we’ll know if the surgery succeeded.”
The words don’t hit me all at once. They swirl in slow motion, suspended in the sterile air.
I blink,, then I’m nodding.
“Thanks, Chris,” I manage, my voice cracking on the edge of tears I’ve swallowed for far too long.
He places a hand on my elbow and guides me gently to the closest bench, easing me down like I might fall apart if left standing too long. He wouldn’t be wrong.
“Everything will be fine,” he says softly. “It’s strange not seeing the positive Isabel from university.”
I let out a broken laugh, trying to conjure her—the girl who walked barefoot across campus lawns, who once said everything had a solution, who kissed Nate like the world could never break them.
“I still am,” I whisper, forcing a smile that burns my cheeks, “but I’m also terrified of Nathan’s reaction if the operation fails.”
“Isabel,” Chris sighs. “Don’t think the worst. Not like you used to.”
“Chris, how can I not?” I snap, voice sharper than intended as I throw my hands in the air. “You told me. You said sixty percent. That doesn’t exactly scream hope to me!”
His mouth opens, then closes. He knows I’m right. And he knows I’m unraveling.
He hesitates—then asks the question I’ve been avoiding like a landmine. “Do you feel guilty about the choice you made?”
I snap my head toward him, fury flashing through the fog of grief. “What?” My voice shakes. “Of course not! I’d rather know he’s alive—even if he hates me—than…”
I choke on the rest.
Than dead.
I can’t say it.
I won’t say it.
The thought alone rips my soul in half. I bury my face in my hands, and the dam breaks.
My sobs echo in the hallway like a prayer, raw and helpless and cracked open.
Chris doesn’t say anything at first. He just pulls me into a hug. Strong. Steady. Not Nathan.
But close enough to keep me from shattering entirely.
“I get it,” he murmurs. “I do. But he’s a lucky man, Isabel.”
His words are soft, but they land heavy.
