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228 Words
The hospital room felt like a ghost of every visit before it—white walls, cold air, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. Christian Monroe sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs lightly, the paper-thin gown brushing against her knees. Outside the window, the same skeletal tree she’d stared at for years swayed in the winter breeze.
She wasn’t scared. At least, that’s what she told herself. But the silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as Dr. James stood across from her, his expression grim. The clipboard in his hand trembled ever so slightly, though Christian doubted he realized it. She hated the pity in his eyes, the way his mouth pressed into a thin line like he could soften the blow with a look.
“Christian,” Dr. James began, voice heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. “We’ve done everything we can. We’ve searched for donors, tried every avenue. But… your body has continued to reject the transplants.”
Christian felt her breath catch, but she forced herself to stay still, waiting for the final nail in the coffin. She didn’t need comfort or sugarcoated words—just the truth.
“How long?” she asked, her voice calm, too calm.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping. “At the current rate, less than three months.”
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