My Daughter Folded Something Into My Palm Before Her Surgery and Whispered, “Just in Case” — When I Read It in the Waiting Room, My Legs Gave Out

wave.

Then she disappeared.

The doors closed.

And suddenly I was alone.

I sat in the waiting room with the folded note in my pocket.

Time slowed.

Every minute stretched into ten.

I checked my phone.

Read the same news headline three times.

Bought coffee I never drank.

Watched strangers come and go.

Anything to avoid thinking about what was happening beyond those continue reading …