As Andrew and I made our way back to Tristan’s room, I felt a mix of anxiety and hope battling within me. Each step felt heavy, but I was determined to see my son and reassure him that everything would be okay. I pushed open the door, and my heart sank at the sight of Tristan lying on the hospital bed, his face pale but slightly more relaxed than when we had left.
“Mom! Uncle Andrew!” His voice was a mixture of relief and pain, a sight that sent a fresh wave of worry through me.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, moving closer. “How are you feeling?”
Tristan looked at us with wide eyes, and I could see the remnants of tears in his lashes. “The nurse gave me some drugs, and the pain is... better now,” he admitted, trying to sound brave.
“That’s good to hear,” Andrew replied, giving Tristan a gent
