The next twenty four hours unfolded slowly, suspended between exhaustion and cautious hope. Willow drifted in and out of shallow sleep, the kind that never fully restored her but allowed her body brief moments of escape from the constant ache. Each time she surfaced, the room greeted her with the same quiet rhythm. The monitor hummed beside the bed, its steady pulse marking the fragile stability the doctors watched so closely. New medications were administered with gentle efficiency while nurses checked her vitals with practiced calm. The lingering pain beneath her incision reminded her that healing had not yet truly begun.
The hematoma remained stubbornly unchanged. It did not worsen, but it did not shrink either. It existed in that narrow space doctors called stable. That meant they no longer hovered over her every breath, but they never fully relaxed their vigilance.
