“I feel like I’m dreaming,” I murmured, still trying to grasp the magnitude of it all.
A gentle smile played on Domino’s lips, drawing me in. “You need proof that all of this is real?”
I nodded. “Pinch me.”
Domino leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin. “I can do more than pinch.”
With that, he eased me back onto the bed, hovering over me, his eyes filled with promises unspoken. His hands slid down my sides, pulling me closer, reminding me that he was right there, and that this moment was undeniably real.
***
Two days later, and I still wasn’t sure how I was standing.
Everything had unfolded with dizzying speed—doctors’ appointments, a barrage of phone calls, frantic preparations—that I hadn’t given myself the chance to truly process the reality of it all… until now. The stillness around me was deafening, almost suffocating.
Kyrin sat on the hospital bed, dressed in one of those thin gowns, his legs swinging slightly like he was anywhere but about to go into open-heart surgery. The room itself didn’t even feel like a hospital. The walls were a soft cream, artwork hung as if itbelonged in a gallery, and the equipment looked sleek instead of intimidating.
According to my father, it was a privilege to be there. That hospital wasn’t just a place anyone could walk into; it required not just a referral but considerable financial resources and the right connections. Kyrin would have to remain in the facility for at least two to three weeks post-surgery, if not longer, depending on how his body responded to the transplant. And me? I wasn’t going anywhere. They had already prepared a private suite for me down the hall. I hadn’t asked; my father just made it happen.
What was supposed to be a five-day trip to Mexico now felt like we were known residents.
Kyrin’s voice pulled me from my reverie. “Jo, are you nervous?” he asked, a hint of his usual levity shining through despite the circumstances.
I felt a lump form in my throat but pushed it aside. “Come here. Let’s pray,” I offered softly, feeling a profound need for strength and comfort in that moment.
He slid off the bed with a calmness that I admired and walked over to me.
Without needing to say anything more, we bowed our heads, a small cocoon of solace amidst the uncertainty. I took his hands, feeling the warmth of his grip as if it could infuse some courage into me.
“Go ahead,” he murmured, encouraging me.
I swallowed, my heart pounding so loud it almost drowned out my own thoughts.
“God…” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “First, thank you. Thank you for bringing us to this moment, for the heart, for the dedicated doctors, and for not abandoning us when it felt like everything was crumbling.” I squeezed his hands tighter, willing my emotions under control. “Please guide the surgeons, every hand, every decision, and every second in that operatingroom. Cover my brother, protect him, and let this procedure be successful—not just today, but for years to come.” My voice hitched. “And grant me peace while I wait… because you know I’m gonna need it.”
A quiet breath escaped Kyrin, almost like a gentle chuckle. “And God,” he added, “make sure they don’t mess up my new heart. I’m trying to live a long time.”
A soft laugh broke through my tears.
“Amen,” I whispered.
“Amen,” he echoed.
As we lifted our heads, I quickly wiped away my tears, not wanting them to cloud the moment any further.
“You ready?” I asked.
He shrugged, a small grin breaking through the anxiety. “As ready as I’m ever gonna be.”
Just then, a faint knock sounded at the door, and the moment shifted.
It was time.
A team of doctors and nurses entered, each one exuding calm professionalism.
Dr. Vega, the lead surgeon, stepped forward first, his warm, approachable tone easing some of the tension in the room. “Good morning, Kyrin. How are you feeling today?”
“Hungry,” Kyrin replied instantly. “Y’all said no food after midnight like I wasn’t gonna remember that.”
