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SLOWLY TEARING DOWN WALLS

DAMIEN

I’m sitting in the waiting room, staring blankly at the clock on the wall. Each second feels like a lifetime. My heart pounds in my chest, and my mind is racing with every worst-case scenario imaginable. The words "surgery" and "life-threatening" keep replaying in my head, over and over. I’ve never felt so damn powerless.

"Damien," my nanny’s voice pulls me out of my trance. She’s standing next to me, holding a cup of coffee that she offers with a sympathetic smile. "You should drink something. You’ve been sitting here for hours."

I take the cup without really thinking, but I don’t drink. I can’t. “How long do these things take?” I mutter, more to myself than to her.

Miss Rosie sits down next to me, folding her hands in her lap. "Sometimes longer than we want, but the doctors know what they’re doing. Anna’s strong. She’ll pull through."

I nod, but the words don’t sink in. Miss Rosie’s trying to help, but it doesn’t stop the crushing weight of fear. I hate this—being here, waiti
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