A few days later, the morning sun rose pale and cold over the city. Today was the day of Hazel's surgery.
The hospital was one of the most prestigious in the country. Nurses moved through the halls in soft shoes, doctors consulted in hushed voices, and the air smelled of antiseptic and something floral, probably from the large arrangement of white lilies in the lobby.
Hazel's parents arrived first. Jenna's face was pale, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Kevin stood beside her, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the waiting room like he was looking for something to fight. They had been waiting for this day for years—hoping, praying, preparing. Now that it was here, they didn't know what to do with themselves.
