The red light above the operating room door glowed like an angry eye.
Emerie sat in the plastic chair opposite it, hands locked together so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her legs wouldn't stop bouncing. Every few seconds she stared at the door, as if she could force it to open by will alone.
Alex sat beside her, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely linked. He looked calmer, but the tension around his mouth was clear if you knew where to look.
Down the hall, nurses moved in and out of other rooms. A vending machine hummed. Somewhere, a phone rang and was quickly answered. The hospital's usual noise felt far away, muffled by the pounding in Emerie's ears.
“They've been in there a long time," she whispered.
Alex checked his watch. “It only feels that way," he said. “It hasn't even
