Chapter 8 - The Waiting Game
The chemotherapy managed to shrink the tumor just enough to make surgery a viable option, but it was incredibly risky. The mass was wrapped dangerously close to major arteries. The morning of the surgery, Elias held her face in his hands, pressing his forehead against hers.
"I'll be right here when you wake up," he promised.
"If I don't—"
"Don't," he interrupted firmly. "You will."
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The surgery was scheduled for six hours. Elias sat in the surgical waiting room, a sterile purgatory of ticking clocks and old magazines. Six hours turned into seven. Seven turned into nine. Every time the double doors swung open, his breath hitched. He paced the floor, counting the tiles, praying to a God he hadn't spoken to in years.
Finally, at hour ten, Dr. Aris emerged. He looked exhausted, his surgical cap still on, his mask pulled down. There was blood on his scrubs. Elias froze, unable to take a step forward, waiting for the words that would either end his life or give it back to him.
