The entire corridor fell silent, save for Mrs. Johnson's suppressed sobs, leaving only the shallow breathing of everyone present.
Tim Morrison walked over and sat next to Grace Murdock. Grace turned her head and glanced at her husband's pale face, sighed softly to herself, and reached out to hold his fingers. Tim's palms were slightly cold, covered with clammy sweat. The fear and panic he was feeling at that moment were no less than that of anyone else.
It was hard to say how long it had been, perhaps an hour or maybe two, when the lights in the operating room finally went off. The weary doctors and nurses came out, and Mrs. Johnson and Donald Johnson hurried up to them, "How is it? Doctor."
"The condition has worsened," the doctor waved his hand. "Although the patient's life has been saved, they have fallen into a coma. We need to prepare for the formal surgery. Otherwise, they might not make it through the night."
With these words, those present froze instantly.
