Chapter 77: The Wait and the Visit

Chapter 77: The Wait and the Visit
The hospital air remained still as the sun rose higher into the afternoon. The morning had passed slowly, a haze of quiet footsteps, the distant hum of machines, and the occasional soft whispers between nurses and patients’ families. Lydia sat beside Mr. and Mrs. James in the waiting area just outside the ICU, trying to keep her mind still.

Mrs. James, after hours of sitting rigid with worry, had finally dozed off on her husband’s shoulder, her fingers still clutching a rosary as her lips moved gently in prayer. Mr. James occasionally glanced down at her, adjusting her shawl or squeezing her hand gently.

Lydia’s phone buzzed quietly in her lap. She looked down.

Melissa: How’s he doing? Have you eaten?

Julia: What’s the latest update? Please tell me he’s okay.

She sighed and started typing.

Lydia: No updates yet. He’s stable for now. The doctors are still checking him every few hours. I’ll keep you posted. Just keep praying.

Every minute felt like a lifetime. Nurses in light blue uniforms moved through the corridor with purposeful steps, checking charts and IV lines. Occasionally, one would peek into Dennis’s room before moving on to the next. Lydia watched them closely, hoping someone would come out with good news, or at least a hopeful expression. Anything.

Around 3 p.m., a familiar face approached. Dr. Williams, the senior surgeon who had operated on Dennis the previous night, walked toward them with a calm, reassuring stride. Lydia stood up instantly, nudging Mr. James awake.

He looked down at his wife, still asleep. “Grace, the doctor’s here,” he said gently.

She stirred, blinking as she sat up. “Doctor… how is he?”

Dr. Williams gave them a small smile. “He’s doing well. The swelling has gone down a little, and his vitals are stable. We’re preparing to move ahead with the second surgery today. Tentatively around 6 p.m.”

Lydia exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and tension.

“How long will the surgery take?” Mr. James asked.

“Two to three hours,” Dr. Williams replied. “We’ll do our best. If everything goes well, he should regain consciousness sometime afterwards.”

Mrs. James clasped her hands tightly and murmured a prayer beneath her breath. “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered. Her eyes shone with both hope and fear.

Lydia quickly messaged Melissa and Julia with the update.

Lydia: They’re going ahead with the second surgery at 6 p.m. Please keep him in your prayers. He’s stable now.

Julia: Thank God! We’re praying over here.

Melissa: Oh wow. Sending so much strength. He’s got this.

“Maybe you should go home and freshen up,” Mr. James said gently, turning to his wife. “You’ve been here all night.”

Mrs. James hesitated, her motherly instincts at war with logic.

“You’ll be back before the surgery,” he continued. “And you can pack some of his things too. He’ll need a few fresh clothes, toiletries… and something familiar.”

She nodded slowly. “Alright. You’re right.”

“I can drive her,” Lydia offered, standing. “I’d like to come with you, ma’am.”

Mrs. James looked at her with gratitude. “That would be nice.”

They walked quietly to the hospital’s parking lot. Lydia hadn’t been outside since she arrived early that morning, and the afternoon breeze felt surprisingly warm against her skin.

As Mrs. James unlocked the car, she glanced over. “Have you ever been to our home before?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, this is my first time. And Dennis isn’t even there,” she added with a faint smile.

Mrs. James gave a soft laugh. “Yes… The house feels strange without him.”

The drive was quiet at first, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but necessary. The roads were still wet from the earlier rain, and the sky held onto grey clouds like they hadn’t fully decided what kind of day they wanted to be.

After a while, they pulled into a gated compound. The James's home stood quietly elegant — two stories, warm beige walls, and a small garden with carefully trimmed hedges.

“You have a lovely home,” Lydia said as they stepped inside.

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. James replied warmly, motioning her in. “Please, sit. Let me get you something to drink.”

Lydia sat down in the living room, taking in the cosy decor — family portraits, polished furniture, and soft floral curtains. A young house help emerged moments later with a tray and a chilled glass of orange juice.

“Thank you,” Lydia smiled as she took the drink.

Mrs. James returned after a quick shower, dressed in fresh clothes and holding a small duffel bag.

“Come with me,” she said. “Let’s go to his room.”

Lydia followed her through the hallway, heart quietly beating as they reached the door. Mrs. James opened it gently.

“This is Dennis’s room,” she said, stepping aside.

Lydia looked around. It was neat — clearly the room of someone thoughtful. A bookshelf lined one wall, filled with novels, trophies, and a few framed photos. There was a faint smell of his cologne — warm, familiar.

On the table by the bed were several baby pictures. Lydia bent over, smiling as she picked one up. “He’s always looked so cute.”

Mrs. James chuckled lightly. “He got compliments all the time, even as a baby. And still does,” her voice softened. “He grew up to be a good man. Kind. Strong. Protective.”

Lydia placed the photo down gently and wrapped an arm around her. “He still is.”

They stood quietly for a moment, then Mrs. James took a deep breath. “Let’s pack his hospital bag.”

“Sure, ma’am,” Lydia replied.

Together they opened his wardrobe, carefully choosing comfortable clothes, clean underwear, and a few of his favourite things. Lydia spotted a small notepad tucked between shirts and smiled — she remembered Dennis mentioning he liked to scribble things down when he couldn’t sleep.

They added toiletries, socks, and even a small blanket.

Once everything was packed, they left the room, locking the door behind them. Mrs. James looked back for a moment longer before they walked out.

Back in the car, the silence returned, but this time it was heavier — filled with memories, prayers, and a shared sense of hope.

By the time they reached the hospital again, the sky had begun to darken slightly, signalling the slow approach of evening. Nurses were moving about with purpose, and the atmosphere inside felt tenser than before.

They rejoined Mr. James in the waiting area. Lydia helped carry the bag in, placing it beside the chair.

“They’re almost ready for him,” he said quietly, holding out his phone where a text from the doctor had just arrived.

Lydia sat down, heart thudding gently as she looked toward the hallway where Dennis lay. Her fingers instinctively rubbed the side of her wrist, where the bracelet Dennis had gifted her still clung loosely.

The surgery would begin in less than an hour.

And all they could do now — was wait.