Callum and I had been married for eleven years. For every one of those years, I had shared him with Saint Jude Medical Center in Columbus.
He was an exceptionally talented surgeon, and I had always been proud that my husband spent his life saving people. But during the past year, I had started wrapping up his dinner before I even had the chance to sit down and eat my own.
He missed Thanksgiving, our anniversary, and our daughter Sadie’s eighth birthday.
There were nights when he didn’t come home at all.
“We’re short-staffed, honey. Please don’t stay up waiting for me.”
Whenever he finally dragged himself into bed, he looked so completely exhausted that I forced myself to swallow every complaint.
One night, I woke up and found him sitting on the edge of the mattress, his shoulders trembling.
“Callum?”
He quickly wiped his face before turning toward me.
“Rough night. Go back to sleep.”So that Tuesday, after watching him leave the house with his hospital badge clipped to his pocket, I decided I would surprise him.
I packed his favorite lunch, included a slice of apple pie, and slipped a note beneath his fork:
“You don’t have to take care of everyone. Let me have a turn.”
I drove to the hospital, imagining the look on Callum’s face when he saw me and how happy he would be.
But the instant I walked inside, something felt wrong.
At the nurses’ station, a woman I had known for years stopped smiling the second she noticed me.
“Is Callum around?” I asked. “And please don’t tell him I’m here. He’ll just say I shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
She exchanged a quick glance with the nurse standing beside her.
My smile disappeared.
“Did something happen to him? Where is Callum?”
Neither woman said a word.
I was beginning to get angry at how strangely they were acting when I saw Callum’s colleague, Vincent, walking toward me.
His face was completely pale.
He stopped directly in front of me.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” I said cheerfully. “Can you tell me where Callum is?”
Vincent stared at my face for a moment.
Then, without warning, his eyes filled with tears.
“He hasn’t told you anything, has he?”
Part 2
My blood ran cold. The lunchbox in my hand suddenly felt heavy, pulling at my shoulder as I stared at Vincent’s trembling lips.
“Told me what?” my voice rose, sharp and breathless. “Vincent, what is going on? Is Callum hurt? Did he collapse?”
Vincent placed a firm, trembling hand on my arm and guided me away from the busy corridor into a private consultation room. He closed the door behind us, shutting out the rhythmic hum of hospital monitors and hurrying footsteps.
“Sit down, please,” Vincent said, his voice cracking.
“No! I’m not sitting down until you tell me where my husband is!” I shouted, the terror finally breaking through my restraint. “Why was everyone looking at me like that at the desk? Why are you crying?!”
