The next ten hours are a blur as I'm left to hold my breath in the hospital waiting room. I alternate between pacing the floor and collapsing into a chair to hang my head in my hands, swinging between violent despair and brief glimpses of hope.

Doctors and nurses come and go, providing updates with little information. They did imaging tests on Ivy as soon as she arrived, confirming the baby is okay, but from what they can tell so far, she has three broken ribs, a fractured arm, a ruptured tendon in her leg, and numerous scrapes and bruises. The impact was to her face and the side of her head, but they told me she was responsive to stimuli before they took her back to surgery for the ruptured tendon. I wanted to see her, but the surgery had to be performed immediately to prevent further damage.

Marco told me that was a good sign, and the nurses have continued to assure me they are doing everything they can. But hours have come and gone, and something doesn't feel right. I know it, deep in my gut.

"I have to go back there," I tell Marco.

"You can't." He stands up and forces me back into the chair.

I'm too exhausted to fight him off, and I know it isn't logical. They told me as soon as she was in recovery, they would come for me. But I can't deny this desperate sinking inside me. It's an instinct that only intensifies with time, and after another hour passes, I can no longer deny it.

"It's been hours," I croak. "They said she'd be out of surgery by now."

"It takes time for the anesthesia to wear off," he answers. "Look at the screen, boss."

He points at the monitor in the waiting room with Ivy's number on it. The one that tells me she's still in surgery. It hasn't been updated for six hours, I realize, and I know that can’t be accurate.

When I stagger to my feet again, Marco sighs, and this time he seems to understand he's not stopping me. I head for the desk, where a terrified nurse blinks up at me as soon as she sees me.

"Mr. De La Rosa," she squeaks.

"I want to speak to a doctor. Now.”

She swallows, nods, and scurries off. Five minutes pass, and then ten before a weary-looking doctor appears. It's the same man I spoke to earlier. One of the best surgeons IVI has on staff. He was called in specifically for my wife's case today. I was assured she was in good hands with Dr. Singh. But one glance at his face tells me I was wrong.

"What happened?" I force the words between gritted teeth. "I want to see my wife. Now. Where is she? Where the hell is she?"

"Mr. De La Rosa." His eyes bounce between Marco and me. "I'm afraid there's been a complication."