Finally, Dr. Shaw appeared at the doorway. Jack stood so quickly his chair struck the wall. The surgeon took one step closer and gave him the news without making him wait for an elaborate introduction. "Lily has come through the procedure. We were able to remove the temporary support, and so far her heart is managing the work on its own."
Jack gripped the back of the chair. "She's okay?"
"She's stable right now, and this is an important step forward. She still needs intensive care, and the next days matter. But I want you to understand that today went well."
Rose began crying softly. Luke covered his face with one hand. Jack stood motionless until Shaw asked whether he had understood. Then he nodded, sat back down, and laughed through tears he was no longer able to hold inside.
"I think I forgot how to breathe," he said.
"You've had a difficult few weeks," Shaw replied. "You can take a minute. We'll bring you to her as soon as she's settled."
When Jack returned to bed twelve, the large machine that had dominated the room was gone. The space looked oddly empty without it, though Lily still had monitors, medications, and equipment to help her breathe. Jack paused in the doorway, overwhelmed by the absence of the sound he had come to associate with her survival. He had wished for silence from that machine, and now the silence made him afraid all over again.
Leah recognized the feeling. "She's being watched very closely," she told him. "The quiet doesn't mean we're doing less. It means we're doing something different now."
Jack approached the bed and took Lily's hand. The skin felt warm. Her fingers rested against his palm with a familiar softness he had nearly forgotten beneath the hospital's endless measurements. He talked to her about the sunrise, the snow, and the fact that Uncle Luke had finally learned to make pancakes without setting off a smoke alarm.
"Don't tell her that part," Luke protested from the doorway.
"She's been waiting eight years to hear it. I'm absolutely telling her."
For the next forty-eight hours, Jack learned another kind of waiting. Every change in Lily's condition was considered carefully by the team, and she remained in intensive care while her body adjusted. There were periods of concern and periods of reassurance, none large enough on their own to declare the danger over. But the heart that had seemed unable to carry its own work was now doing more of it, and the scans continued to offer reasons for cautious hope.
The first time Lily opened her eyes for more than a moment, Jack was sitting beside her reading the astronomy notebook aloud. He had reached the part about the giant storms on Jupiter when he noticed her eyelashes move. He stopped reading, afraid that his voice had disturbed her, and watched her eyes struggle to focus.