They followed the doctor through the hospital hallways, each step feeling like an eternity. Zinnia's mind was racing, and the sight of her mother, clutching her hand tightly as they walked, did little to calm her nerves.
When they arrived at Ricardo's room, the door was slightly ajar, and the soft beeping of a heart monitor could be heard from within. The room was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of a few overhead lamps to provide light. Inside, Ricardo lay in a hospital bed, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, his face pale and drawn from the effort of the surgery.
Elena's breath hitched when she saw him, and she moved toward the bed, her hand hovering near his, unsure whether to touch him. "Ricardo…" she whispered, her voice breaking.
