The sterile, fluorescent-lit waiting room was suffocating, and the atmosphere was thick with tension. I couldn't sit still; my foot tapped a restless rhythm on the worn linoleum floor. Timothy was still beside me, his jaw clenched so tightly that I could practically hear his molars grinding together.
Olive clung to my leg, her little fingers digging into the fabric of my jeans. She was too young to understand the gravity of the situation, but she could sense the unease that permeated the room. I tried to keep her distracted with a small coloring book I'd found in the corner of the room, but her eyes kept drifting to the swinging double doors that led to the trauma bay.
Every time those doors swung open, our hearts leaped into our throats, hoping for news, dreading what we might hear.
Fi
