Chương 15 - The Operating TheatreThe surgical prep room was blindingly white, smelling of sterile iodine, surgical soap, and cold metal.
I lay flat on the operating table, the blue paper sheet pulled across my chest, staring up at the massive circular array of surgical lights overhead. The anesthesiologist, a calm, middle-aged woman with kind eyes, stood by my left shoulder adjusting the IV drip.
“Alright, Mr. Sterling,” the anesthesiologist smiled softly. “We’re going to administer the general anesthesia now. Count backward from ten for me.”
“Ten,” I murmured, feeling a cool, heavy rush of fluid enter my veins.
“Nine... eight...”
My eyelids felt impossibly heavy. The hum of the surgical equipment began to fade into a distant, rhythmic hum.
“Seven... six...”
Through the double-paned observation window overlooking the sterile operating theater, I caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of a familiar figure standing in the corridor. Grace was standing there in her grey sweater, watching through the glass, her hands pressed tightly against the viewing pane.
She wasn't crying anymore. She was watching me with an expression of quiet, resolute grace.
As the darkness finally pulled me under, filling my mind with absolute, dreamless silence, I made a silent promise to the universe:
May you like
I would wake up.
And when I did, I would spend every single day of my life proving that the man who walked out of a Chicago courtroom three years ago was truly dead—and that a father had finally taken his place.
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