When I stepped into the operating room and finally looked at her face, the shock was quiet but profound. She was the same woman from all those years ago — older now, but unmistakable. Surgery demanded my full attention, leaving no room for emotion, only action. The procedure was long and unforgiving, each step carrying consequences that could not be reversed. When it was over, and she was stable, the weight of it all settled in. Outside the unit, her son waited, shaken and exhausted. When I told him she would live, his anger dissolved into relief. Slowly, understanding replaced resentment as he realized who I was — not the source of his pain, but someone tied to the thread that had kept both him and his mother alive.
