Ava

The sterile scent of antiseptic was all over the air, mingling with the faint aroma of hospital-grade coffee. The fluorescent lights cast a cold glow over the waiting area, where I sat, my fingers nervously tapping against the armrest of the chair.

Marcel sat beside me, scrolling through his phone, while Dolly paced back and forth, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor.

Hours had passed since my mother left to attend to pressing matters, leaving the three of us to await any news on Caspian's condition. The silence was occasionally broken by the distant beeping of monitors and the hushed conversations of nurses passing by.

Suddenly, the door...