I swallowed. “And you would perform it?”
“Yes. I would stake everything on this.”
All those years, he’d experimented relentlessly, trying to find a way to help me, while I thought he was doing something else.
I was terrified.
“You would perform it?”
What if it failed? What if I woke up and nothing changed? Or worse, what if I regretted seeing the world after building a life in darkness?
But I trusted him.
The surgery was scheduled three months later.
Those weeks crawled.
I heard the tremor in Nigel’s voice when he reviewed the consent forms. I felt his hands shake the night before the operation.
“Are you afraid?” I asked him as we lay in bed.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But not of the surgery.”
What if it failed?
“Then of what?”
He hesitated. “Of losing you.”
That confused me, but I chalked it up to nerves.
