She Rose from the Ashes
The afternoon my critical condition notice was issued, Silas Stenson popped a bottle of champagne in the lab.
On social media, a photo showed him and Wynter Keller standing side by side in the golden sunset, their white coats bathed in light. The caption read only one line—'Ten years—it finally worked.'
Everyone said he was devoted, that he'd spent ten sleepless years trying to save me.
When the nurse, her eyes red, showed it to me on her phone, I was staring at the wavering lines on the monitor.
No one knew that the drug had already been perfected a year ago. And I was the only candidate who wasn't allowed to receive it.