Hope.
“Bia… you’re here,” he whispered.
Tears slowly rolled down the side of my face. I didn’t even feel them. I just knew they were there.
I made it.
I was still here.
But something felt… different.
I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. Only a small sound came out. My husband quickly held my hand tighter.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t try to talk yet. Just rest. The surgery… it’s over.”
Over.
That word should have felt like relief.
But deep inside, I felt something else.
Fear.
Because I remembered something.
The doctor’s words before everything went dark.
“There’s something we found… we will do our best.”
Something they didn’t fully explain.
Something I didn’t tell my family.
Days passed slowly after that moment. I stayed in the hospital room, surrounded by machines and quiet voices. My body was weak, but I was alive. Every breath felt like a small victory.
