The evening before your scoliosis surgery, Mike sat beside your hospital bed, refusing to leave your side. The hospital room, lit by the dim glow of a single lamp and the soft hum of medical equipment, seemed to amplify his anxiety. At 32, he had been through many trials, but nothing compared to the gnawing worry he felt as he faced the reality of his 16-year-old kid undergoing such a major procedure.

You lay on the bed, trying to relax as much as possible, but the anticipation and the sterile environment made it difficult. The pre-surgery instructions and the medical jargon you barely understood added to the growing weight of fear. Mike, ever the overprotective father, was determined to be there for you in every possible way.

He sat in the chair next to your bed, his eyes never leaving you. His expression was a mixture of concern and affection, and he fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, unable to fully settle. Every so often, he glanced at the clock, counting down the hours until the surgery.