The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit was quiet, dimly lit, and dominated by the soft, rhythmic hum of monitoring equipment. Unlike the high-tension environment of the operating room corridor, the atmosphere here carried a still, reverent calm.
Toby lay in the center of the bed, looking small against the crisp white sheets. A thin oxygen nasal cannula was resting under his nose, and an IV line was taped securely to the back of his tiny hand. His face was pale, but the shallow, labored breathing that had plagued him for months was gone, replaced by a deep, steady rise and fall of his chest.
Maya walked up to the side of the bed, her movements light as if she were afraid to disturb the air around him. She sat on the edge of the chair, reaching out to cup his cheek with her warm palm. His skin
