Sofia's POV
The moment Damien left the room, I felt my knees weaken. I sank into the chair beside my son's bed, my hands shaking as I smoothed the hair from his damp forehead. My heart was torn in half—fear for my child's fragile life, and fear of the storm Damien had promised once this was over. Minutes stretched like hours before the door opened again. A nurse entered, her expression tight with urgency. "We need to prepare him for the procedure. Both the donor and the child will be taken to surgery."
Donor.
The word echoed in my head like a drumbeat. Damien returned soon after, already in the sterile gown they had given him. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed the truth—they were fixed on our son, unwilling to look anywhere else.
