Once again, Timothy was subjected to the agony of waiting. It was a sharp, soul- deep pain that branded itself onto his memory. In that moment, he finally understood how excruciating waiting could be. For seven long years, this was what Jessica must have felt, waiting for him. Waiting for him to come home. Waiting for him to love her. And she had waited for nothing, until she was knocking on death's door. The truth was always so brutal.

Three hours passed, and Timothy felt he was on the verge of breaking. "Dr. Wheeler,” he asked, his voice strained, "how long does this surgery usually take?"

"A live-donor liver transplant typically takes between eight to twelve hours."

He was already going mad after three hours, and the surgery wasn't even halfway done.

Timothy swayed on his feet. Vince, though equally tense, moved to steady him. "Come on, let's sit down and wait." Vince was terrified of something happening to Jessica, his own heart pounding with anxiety, but he feared Timothy wouldn't be able to hold himself together.

He helped Timothy to a nearby chair. Herbert, just as anxious, paced restlessly in front of the operating room doors. Even sitting, Timothy felt like he couldn't breathe. The second hand on his watch moved with agonizing slowness. Every second felt like a year. The silence of the hallway was heavy, suffocating, and terrifying.

Another hour crawled by before the doors to one of the operating rooms opened. It was Sheila, still unconscious, being wheeled out.

Timothy shot to his feet and went to ask the surgeon for an update.

"The removal was a success. We're taking her to a monitoring unit now to let the anesthesia wear off. She'll be out in 24 hours."

She was okay. One was out safely. He prayed the next one would be too.

Back at the hotel, Yates was also on edge. Kane was even more worried about Sheila, knowing that even being a donor carried risks. He kept urging Yates to call for news.

Yates didn't dare call Timothy, afraid of overwhelming him, so he called Vince instead.

Vince updated him on the situation. Hearing that Sheila was out safely was a small relief. "How's Timothy holding up?" Yates asked.

Vince walked a little further down the hall. "Not well," he said quietly.

Yates let out a long breath. "When Jess is better, are you going to tell her about all this?"

"I don't know yet."

"Vince, you know... you can see how much Timothy cares about her. Everything that happened in the past... maybe it's not as simple as we thought.”

Vince didn't know how to describe

his feelings. The memory

of

Jessica's suffering was still raw yet

here was Timothy, sacrificing himself to save her. It was a maddening contradiction.

“Let's not talk about this now, Yates. It wouldn't change anything."

“Alright. I'll hang up. Let me know when the surgery is over."

Finally, the eight-hour mark passed. Timothy's eyes were fixed on the doors, willing them to open. Then, after a total of nine and a half hours, they finally did.

Vince instantly sprang from his chair and rushed forward.

But Timothy, the one who had been the most desperate, felt as if his legs were

made of lead. He couldn't move. He couldn't stand.

Herbert and Vince both bombarded the surgeon with questions. The lead surgeon pulled down his mask a look of exhaustion and relief on his face. The surgery was a success," he announced. "There's no need to worry. We'll be moving the patient to a monitoring room for a few days of observation."

Vince, whose entire body had been clenched tight for a month, suddenly went limp and collapsed onto the floor.

Herbert sagged against the wall for support.

The sudden release of tension was disorienting, overwhelming. It made them want

to cry.