“Time to go to the operating room, Sarah,” the surgeon said gently, signaling the nurses to unlock the wheels of my bed. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to fix you up.”
As the nurses began to push the bed toward the doors, I looked up at Naomi. She was packing her briefcase, her sharp demeanor softening into a genuine, reassuring smile.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my eyelids growing heavy as the anesthesiologist injected the pre-op sedative into my IV. “Thank you for showing up.”
“I’ll be waiting right outside the O.R. doors until you wake up,” Naomi promised, walking alongside the bed. “Nobody gets past me. You just focus on surviving. I’ll handle the rest.”
I closed my eyes as the bed rolled down the hallway, the fluorescent lights passing overhead like a countdown to a new beginning. I was bleeding, broken, and alone. But for the first time in my life, I was safe.
