The hours in the waiting room felt like a suspended world—no day, no night, just the hum of machines, the quiet shuffle of nurses, and the ache of waiting that refused to end. Since the surgeon left, Myla sat still, her fingers gripping the paper cup of once hot coffee until it bent in her hand.

Beck had moved to stand by the window, staring at nothing while Jared leaned on the wall beside him, arms crossed, his eyes dark with fatigue and the kind of worry that had nowhere to go.

“He’s ...