The rain outside St. Mercy Hospital beat a relentless, rhythmic tattoo against the reinforced glass, echoing the frantic thrum of Katherine Ellis’s pulse.

The surgery felt like an eternity. Three and a half hours ticked by in agonizing slow motion. Every time a nurse walked down the corridor, Katherine’s heart hammered against her ribs. She paced the length of the waiting room, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor, replaying every harsh word she had ever hurled at Wyatt in her head.

“Stop using our daughters to get near my money.”

The memory made her physically nauseous. She had looked a good, decent man in the eye and accused him of the very sins she was surrounded by in her corporate boardrooms.

At 5:15 AM, the double doors swung open, and Dr. Aris walked out, peeling off his surgical cap. He looked tired, but there was a faint, encouraging smile playing on his lips.

"The obstruction has been successfully removed," Dr. Aris announced. "The valve repair held beautifully. She's resting in recovery right now, and barring any unforeseen complications, she’s going to make a full recovery."

A sob broke free from Katherine’s chest—a sound so raw and unfiltered that it startled even her. She pressed her hands to her face, letting the overwhelming wave of relief wash over her as tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

"Thank you," she choked out. "Thank you, Dr. Aris."

"Don't thank me, Ms. Ellis," the surgeon said, patting her shoulder gently. "Thank the man who funded the transport. That kind of split-second reaction is rare in this world."

By six o'clock, Katherine was allowed into Violet’s recovery room. Her little girl looked pale, small tubes taped to her hand and a steady monitor beeping softly beside the bed, but her chest rose and fell with a steady, even rhythm. The bluish tint around her lips was gone, replaced by the natural warmth of healing skin.