Page 21 of The Refiner

Flipping to the next page in the journal, I focus on the white spot on the grainy image.

First ultrasound! Our little miracle is happy and healthy with a strong heartbeat.

I trace my finger along the edge of the image. It’s just a blot—a spot barely noticeable to the untrained eye—a baby, my baby, growing inside one of my closest friends.

And she documented it all. So I would believe her. So I wouldn’t miss the milestones while overseas.

My stomach clenches as a wave of nausea hits me.

I can’t do this. I can’t look at any more of this book. It’s all a reminder of Piper—the woman who was too good for this world. She sacrificed so much, and what did she get in return? Doubt? Fear? Solitude?

Keagan was right. We failed her. We let her suffer and die alone.

“Hey, you still here?” I look up and find Halle in the doorway, her eyes watchful.

“I’m on my way out.” Standing, I grab the journal and offer Halle a gracious smile. “Thanks for getting those logins.”

“No problem.” She reaches out and places a hand on my cheek. “I say this with all the respect in the world. I don’t want to see you for a couple of days, boss.”

I chuckle. “Understood.” Probably won’t happen, but again, I don’t have the energy to argue.

“I mean it, Astor, you need rest. How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

I’ve lost count of the hours. “I promise, I’m going home.” Right after I make a stop.

“Okay.” Halle sighs and removes her hand from my cheek. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

She can’t help me with what I need, but I don’t want to worry Halle any more than I already have. “I will.” I pull her into a side hug. “Keep my brothers in line while I’m gone.”

I finally get a laugh out of her. “I’ll do my best. Now, go.” She pushes me out of the office and into the hallway. “I don’t want to see you back here.”

That won’t be a problem. I have more pressing matters to attend to, like seeing Piper and her sister.

And my child.

The hospital has always been my sanctuary, a place where I leave all my problems and just be. But today, as I walk through the glass doors, all that courses through me is dread. The halls aren’t filled with quiet, calm, or new beginnings.

Today, one hallway leads to an end.

An end of a friendship.

An end of a mother.

An end of a sister.

That’s not the hallway I dread the most, though.

This hallway, the one connecting to the neonatal intensive care, leads to the end of excuses. It’s the beginning of pain and the end of a promise.

“Dr. Potter. We weren’t expecting you.” A nurse greets me at the door of the nursery. “Do you have a patient with us?”

It’s not unexpected that I’m visiting the nursery. I have quite a few babies born with cleft palates that need surgery consults. But it’s unheard of that I visit the nursery for a personal matter. “I uh…” I run a hand through my hair. How am I supposed to get this out? “Piper McKellan.”

The nurse’s face falls. “Such a tragic story. Are you here to see her daughter?”

Her daughter.

My daughter.

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