The surgery went as planned. That’s what the nurse said when Maya opened her eyes. “Textbook smooth,” she chirped, checking her vitals. “You’re in recovery now. Try to rest.” But Maya’s thoughts were already scanning the room.
No flowers. No Aiden. Just the low hum of machines and white light. Her body ached in a way she hadn’t felt before. Not the good kind of ache—this was hollow, sharp, wrong. She tried to sit up, but her head spun.