A month passed while the transplant healed. I learned the room by sound and touch: Mom's chair beside the bed, the edge of the water glass, the hospital sheet beneath my fingers.
On the morning Dr. Evans removed the bandages, Mom kept one hand on my arm.
"Ready, Jade?"
I nodded. My pulse beat high in my throat.
Scissors clipped the medical tape. Dr. Evans unwound the last layer of gauze, and cool air reached my eyelids.
"Open them slowly."
I did.
White glare filled my vision. I blinked until edges separated from the light, then colors and shapes came into focus.
Mom's face appeared first. She was crying and smiling at once. Worry had drawn new lines around her eyes, and silver strands ran through her hair.
"Oh, Mom." Tears blurred her again. Beyond her, I could make out the pale b
