When the medical staff finally emerged, they brought only one piece of news: Aunt Harriet was dead.
My entire body shook. "The success rate was practically guaranteed. How could it fail? Why did it take so long?"
The attending physician stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was a young nurse beside him who spoke up. "Mr. Simmons said it was just a minor procedure, so only an intern was assigned. The chief surgeon was called away hours ago to attend to Miss Dickerson..."
The nurse and the intern stood there with sweat beading on their foreheads. It had been their very first surgery. The outcome was inevitable.
The blow shattered something inside me. My body went ice-cold. Nausea surged up my throat until I was doubled over, dry-heaving. It felt like plummeting into a bottomless abyss. The two of them had done something so unconscionably evil, and Aunt Harriet had paid the price.
I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms, then slammed them against the wall again and again until my strength gave out and I collapsed to the floor. Aunt Harriet's knitted cap was clutched in my hands, soaked through with tears.