Davina's POV
Waiting for these test results has to be the most torturous experience I've ever endured.
My legs won't stop bouncing—they're moving with a will of their own. They might actually have one at this point.
My palms are clammy and ice-cold, my fingers constantly picking at the hem of my shirt.
I keep trying to breathe normally, but each inhale makes my chest constrict like it's refusing to release the air.
Mom sits beside me, gripping my hand and giving it little squeezes every few moments, as if that alone could keep me from completely unraveling.
It's not working. Not even close. Not when I'm sitting here waiting for news that might destroy everything.
I keep my gaze fixed downward, studying the white hospital tiles beneath my feet. I start counting the small black specks scattered across the pattern because I need something...
Something to occupy my mind. Any distraction beats dwelling on what's about to happen.
