The hallway feels cold and sterile, the beeping of the machines a relentless, mocking reminder of the fight going on just beyond that door. I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but all I can do is cry.
I look at the cake box, now so f*****g out of place in this stark, clinical setting. I bought it with so much hope, imagining the joy it would bring her. Now, it feels like a sick joke, a reminder of what might never be.
Time drags on, every second an eternity. I want to run, to burst through the doors and be by her side, but I know I can’t. All I can do is wait, hope, and pray that she’ll make it through.
Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, the door opens and the nurse steps out, slowly. Her expression is pained, and my heart stops.
I look up at her from wh
