Chapter 17 - Four Hours
The surgery was supposed to take two hours.
At two hours and fifteen minutes, I told myself delays were normal.
At three hours, I stopped believing it.
At three hours and twenty minutes, Margaret arrived.
She saw my face.
“No news?”
I shook my head.
She sat beside me.
At three hours and forty minutes, Dr. Mason texted.
Remember that waiting is not control.
I hated therapists.
At four hours, the operating room liaison walked toward us.
I stood so quickly my chair hit the wall.
“Colonel Parker?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Brooks will speak with you shortly.”
“Is Sophie alive?”
The woman's expression changed.
“Yes.”
I nearly collapsed.
Margaret grabbed my arm.
The liaison continued.
“There was significant bleeding.”
My relief vanished.
“What happened?”
“Dr. Brooks will explain.”
I paced.
Margaret prayed silently.
I don't know how long we waited.
Maybe ten minutes.
Maybe an hour.
Then Dr. Brooks appeared.
Her surgical cap was still on.
She looked exhausted.
“She's stable.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
I asked the question Sophie would have asked first.
“Did you have to remove it?”
Dr. Brooks knew what I meant.
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“We were able to remove the lesion while preserving the uterus.”
Margaret began crying.
I held the back of a chair.
“But?”
Dr. Brooks looked at me.
There was always a but.
“Pathology will tell us whether the margins are clear.”
“How long?”
“Several days.”
“And the bleeding?”
“Controlled.”
“Can I see her?”
“When she wakes.”
Margaret sat down again.
I remained standing.
Dr. Brooks touched my shoulder.
“She fought hard.”
I almost corrected her.
Surgery wasn't a battle won through willpower.
But I understood what she meant.
Two hours later, they let me into recovery.
Sophie looked tiny beneath the blankets.
There were lines and monitors everywhere.
I sat beside her.
Her eyelids moved.
“Sophie.”
She opened them slightly.
“Hey.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Hey.”
She swallowed.
Her first coherent question was exactly the one I expected.
“Did they…”
“No.”
Tears appeared instantly.
“They saved it?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
A tear slid toward her ear.
I held her hand.
Then her fingers moved weakly.
“My ring.”
I froze.
She remembered.
I reached into my pocket.
The small box was there.
I opened it.
Her wedding ring rested inside.
I placed it in her palm.
She stared at it.
Then she closed her fingers around it.
“Thank you.”
I didn't ask what she planned to do.
Not then.
She needed to choose every part of what came next herself.
Including me.
Three days later, pathology returned.
The margins were clear.
But Dr. Brooks had one more test pending.
May you like
A genetic analysis of the tumor.
And when the result came back, she called both of us into her office.
