The days following Ruby’s surgery passed in a blur of hushed hospital corridors, home-cooked meals ferried back and forth, and an undercurrent of guarded hope humming through the family.
Ruby, though groggy and weak, was herself again. Her eyes, sharper now without the persistent pain of the tumour, flicked open on her second morning in the recovery ward to find James asleep in a chair beside her, his head tilted uncomfortably against the wall.
“You look terrible,” she whispered.
James jerked awake, then blinked at her. “You're talking.”
“I was always talking. You were just too busy snoring to listen.”
He laughed, relief washing over his face. “You scared the hell out of us.”
“I know. I scared myself a little too.”
She was moved to a private recovery suite by the third day, and the
