Page 97 of One More Chance
Charlie gave the name. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t even hang up. I threw the phone into the passenger seat and drove like Hell was chasing me.
When I pulled into the ER lot, it was bedlam.
A sea of suffering people lined up in masks, eyes glassy, coughing into the crooks of their arms. Nurses moved like ghosts in gowns. Stretchers rolled past. A man screamed for help while another slumped against a wall in the corner, either asleep or dead. It was war. It was madness.
I forced my way to the front desk, ignoring the signs to stay back, ignoring the way the nurse flinched when I leaned in.
“My wife,” I said, voice shaking. “Sloane Shaw. She was brought in a few minutes ago. Pregnant. Attacked.”
The woman frowned, clicking slowly through her monitor, her fingers too calm for the storm raging in my chest.
“Please,” I said again, quieter this time, like begging would make her faster. “I need to know if she’s okay.”
The nurse finally looked up, her eyes bloodshot behind fogged glasses and the crease of an N95.
“She’s in Room 312. Third floor. You’ll have to be quick. Only one visitor at a time, and it has to be brief.” Her voice was flat, clinical, but something in her gaze lingered on me, a flicker of sympathy. She knew I was breaking apart in front of her like so many others in this waiting room.
I didn’t wait for more. I shoved past the line, ignoring the protests, the temperature checks, the signs screamingDo Not Enter Without Clearance. My legs carried me on instinct, my heart thundering behind my ribs, shaking everything inside me loose.
The elevator took years. The hallway smelled of bleach and sorrow. Machines beeped in distant rooms like soft, fading heartbeats.
Then I saw the number.
312.
I pushed the cracked door slowly, afraid of what I might find… and there she was.
Sloane. My wife, pale and still. Unconscious on a hospital bed, wires running from her arms to machines that whispered in cold rhythms. Her face was bruised, the side of her jaw swollen and tinged with a sickening violet. An oxygen tube rested beneath her nose. Her hands, God, her hands, so small on the white sheets.
Beside her sat Charlie, a bandage above his eyebrow and dried blood at his temple. His scrubs were smeared with something dark and his posture was wrecked, like someone had folded him in half with grief.
He looked up when he saw me. I was shocked to see him crying, though perhaps I shouldn't have been. Exhaustion and regret were etched across his face and his expression screamedI couldn't protect her.
“I stayed until you got here,” he said quietly, voice thick.
My throat felt raw as I stepped closer, one foot at a time, afraid I’d collapse if I moved too fast. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. I hadnever seen her look this fragile. Not even during labor. Not during her hardest nights when anxiety kept her pacing the halls.
“What did the doctors say?” I asked, my voice gravel.
Charlie stood then, his eyes on her as well. “They are monitoring her. The baby is still... there. But they are watching for signs of trauma. Placental abruption. Bleeding.”
The words didn’t land right, scattering inside of me.
“I should have seen her coming,” he added, pain bleeding into every syllable. “I should have- ”
“Stop,” I said, too tired to be angry now. “You called me. You stayed with her. Thank you.”
Charlie didn’t reply to that. He nodded once and slipped past me, out the door, leaving me alone with her.
Exhaustion tore through me as I dropped into the chair beside the bed, my fingers hovering above hers, afraid to touch her.
“Sloane,” I whispered, but she didn’t stir.
My eyes burned and I blinked hard, reaching at last for her hand. It was cool against the crisp sheets of the bed. Instinctively I wrapped both of mine around it as if I could will her to wake.
“I’m here,” I said, not knowing if she could hear me. “I’m here now. I swear to any god who will listen, that I will never leave your side again.”
Her hand didn’t squeeze mine back. I stayed there, rooted to the spot, whispering promises into the sterile air, clinging to the hope that somehow, despite all the damage, I hadn’t already lost everything.
