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Over the past month, Tony had practically lived in Queen Alexandra Hospital’s Critical Care Unit, keeping vigil over Zofia, whom the doctors had placed in an induced coma. He sat by her side, holding her hand, waiting on word from the doctors of her progress. “Damn it! They’re half an hour late. Where the hell are they?”
Zofia’s dad regarded him over the other side of the bed. “Relax! They’ll be here soon, Tony. Give them a break, they’re doing the best they can. This is in God’s hands.”
Wishing he had faith in a higher being, Tony kissed Zofia’s hand, remembering that night like it was yesterday. It had taken a local resident five minutes to pluck up the courage to help him. The little old lady had phoned for an ambulance while he cradled his dying girlfriend.
Rob’s girlfriends had
