Timothy’s condition left a hollow ache in Sallie’s chest. She needed comfort just as much as anyone—someone to look her in the eye and assure her that yes, the surgery would help, that yes, Timothy could wake up if they just went through with it.
Caring too much about someone—or something—made you vulnerable to every twist of fate. The more you cared, the more you oscillated between hope and dread, and the weaker your heart seemed to grow. You needed someone else to lend you strength when your own ran out.
Sallie looked at Jessica with desperate hope, silently pleading for reassurance.
Jessica met Sallie’s worried, vacant gaze and understood exactly what she was thinking. She felt the same way—could feel the weight of it pressing down on her. She’d been through her own cycles of hope and disappointment and knew just how much a few words of comfort could mean.
But Jessica didn’t dare make any promises either, so she asked, “Is it time for visiting hours yet? I’d like to see him before we talk about anything else.”
Sallie checked her watch. “Almost. Ten more minutes. Let’s go in together when it’s time.”
Five minutes later, a nurse came by to let Timothy’s family know it was time to change into sterile gowns. Only two visitors were allowed at a time.
Jessica and Sallie headed to the changing room, while Vince found a seat in the waiting area.
Yates sat down next to him. “What do you think about Timothy’s surgery?” he asked quietly.
Vince pressed his lips together, thinking. “We should do it. At least it gives us a better chance than just waiting and hoping for a miracle. If we just sit around and nothing changes, I don’t think we could live with that.”
“I agree. Life’s full of surprises—risk and opportunity always come hand in hand.”
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