Time lost all meaning after that.
Minutes blurred into hours.
Every few seconds someone in scrubs rushed past us, pushing equipment, exchanging hurried words, disappearing behind the emergency room doors where Dawson was fighting a battle none of us could see.
The bright hospital lights felt cruel.
Everything smelled like antiseptic.
Everything was too loud.
The beeping of distant monitors.
The squeak of nurses' shoes.
And the muffled announcements echoing through the corridors.
I sat there, unable to stop staring at the closed doors.
Every time they opened, my heart jumped into my throat.
Every time they closed again without news, it sank even lower.
Stefan paced the hallway back and forth.
Again and again.
He tried to look composed, but I could tell.
His shoulders were rig
