Page 55 of Ashes
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, resting my hand on his forearm.
He glanced at where my hand touched him and his gaze connected briefly with mine before he turned his attention back to the road. He cleared his throat, changing the subject. “What’s your next question?”
Deciding to venture into lighter territory, I asked, “Do you prefer receiving or giving gifts?”
His gaze locked with mine once more as he gave me his answer. “I’m more of a giver.”
I flushed at the undertone in his response and shifted in my seat.
“You have one more question,” he said, as if what he’d just said didn’t send my brain into a frenzy of images of how much of a giver he could be.
Shaking my head, I dismantled the countless images forming in my brain and racked my brain for my final question. There were a ton of personal questions I wanted to ask him, but one in particular kept coming to the forefront.
A question that had been plaguing my brain since the first day we’d met.
“Why did you marry me?” I asked quietly, my eyes trying to find his.
He fell silent, but I waited patiently for him to speak. We stayed silent for a long stretch of time, the sound of our breathing filling the space.
“Because I wanted to,” he finally admitted, avoiding my gaze.
He turned the engine off, indicating we were here. The drive over to the house usually felt quite long, but this time, I wished it had been longer.
“We’re home,” he said before stepping out of the car.
I looked out the passenger window and at the house I’d lived in over the last three weeks.
Yes, we are.
Waiting rooms were usually full of people waiting and hoping for good news, but I knew walking in that the news I was about to give would decimate any hope her parents had.
Lily, five years old. She’d been playing outside when a reckless driver drove into her front yard, injuring her in the process.
She was five. Just five. She had her whole life ahead of her. But despite our attempts at resuscitation, she’d suffered too many injuries and internal bleeding to make it back.
The sound of the flatline still echoed into my skull as I walked over to her parents. I’d lost patients before—hell, I lost another two this week alone—but I’d never expected to lose a young patient.
I felt my finger wanting to reach to my thigh, the anxiety creeping into a crescendo, but I smothered it down.
If you let it take over, you won’t be able to do your job.
Lily’s parents jumped up when they saw me, their faces briefly lit up with hope that suddenly turned into worry when a smile didn’t appear on my face.
That worry morphed into an agonizing cry from her mother as soon as the words “I’m sorry” left my lips.
She dropped to her knees and cries of denial erupted into the room. “No, no, no, it’s not true. It can’t be.”
I tried to maintain a stoic expression, shoving the waves of guilt I felt inside for not being able to bring her daughter back, but every sound she made squeezed my lungs tighter until it made it hard to breathe.
Her husband tried to get her up, but she couldn’t.
“My baby is gone,” she sobbed.
He joined her on the floor and cradled her head into his chest. “I know, baby. I know,” he said, trying to comfort her.
I dropped to my haunches in front of her. My hand moved to reach her, but I refrained from it, not knowing if she’d welcome it. “Nothing I can say could make this any easier, but I’m truly so sorry for your loss. If you’d like, I can take you to see her,” I offered softly.
Lily’s parents eventually both looked at me and nodded.
