The hospital waiting room was thick with tension. The walls, painted in a neutral beige, did little to soothe the weight pressing down on everyone inside.
The air smelled of disinfectant, and the only sounds were the faint beeping of machines and the hushed murmurs of nurses passing by.
Alex sat beside Emma, his fingers interlocked, staring blankly at the floor. Margaret was pacing near the window, her face lined with worry, while Claire sat stiffly in a chair, her arms crossed over her chest.
They were all waiting. Waiting for news from the doctor.
Waiting for something—anything—that would tell them Jake would make it through. No doctor or nurse had stepped out from the theater after that nurse and it was over thirty minutes now.
It was taking long and it made them all nervous and neither of them knew what to expect or what to think. They could only wait and pray that Jake would survive it all.
