Chapter 82

• || SANCIA'S POV ||
• The waiting room outside the operation theater felt like a void, silent except for the occasional shuffle of nurses and the muted beeping of monitors down the hall. I sat on the edge of a hard plastic chair, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, fingers gripping each other so hard they ached. I couldn’t bring myself to relax. Every second felt like an eternity, stretching out as if time itself was taunting me.
• The double doors of the theater remained closed, their opaque windows offering no hint of what was happening inside. My mind kept conjuring worst-case scenarios: the wound reopening, complications, the look of grim sympathy on the surgeon’s face as he stepped out to deliver the news I didn’t want to hear.