Chapter 1
I went to the hospital with lunch to surprise my husband after yet another week of missed dinners and unanswered messages. Instead, one of his colleagues looked at me with tears in his eyes and whispered, “He hasn’t told you anything, has he?” Suddenly, every late night, every canceled plan, and every exhausted silence I'd endured over the past year seemed to take on an entirely different meaning.
Wyatt and I had been married for eleven years.
For eleven years, I'd shared my husband with Saint Ambrose Memorial Hospital where he worked.
He was a talented surgeon, and I was incredibly proud of him. I understood how important his work was. I knew that people were alive because of the care he provided.
But during the past year, I'd begun packing up his dinner before I'd even sat down to eat my own.
He missed Thanksgiving.
Our anniversary.
Our daughter Maisie's eighth birthday.
Some nights, he didn't come home at all.
“We're short-staffed, honey,” he would tell me. “Please don't stay awake waiting for me.”
And I believed him.
Whenever he finally dragged himself into bed, he looked so utterly exhausted that I swallowed every complaint before I could bring myself to say it aloud.
One night, I woke up and discovered him sitting on the edge of the mattress.
His shoulders were trembling.
“Wyatt?”
He quickly brushed the tears from his face.
“It was a rough night,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”
I should have pressed him for answers.
Instead, I reached out and took his hand.
He gently pulled away and got to his feet.
So that Tuesday morning, after watching him leave with his hospital ID badge clipped to his pocket, I decided to surprise him.
I prepared his favorite lunch.
Roast beef on sourdough.
The kettle chips he loved.
A slice of peach pie.
Then I slipped a small note underneath his fork.
You don't have to take care of everyone. Let me have a turn.
I drove across Indianapolis to the hospital with a ridiculous smile on my face, already picturing his reaction when he saw me.
But the instant I walked through the doors, I sensed that something wasn't right.
At the nurses' station, Beth, a woman I'd known for years, looked up at me.
Her smile immediately disappeared.
“Hi,” I said. “Is Wyatt around? And don't tell him I'm coming. He'll say I shouldn't have gone to the trouble.”
She glanced at the nurse standing beside her.
Neither of them said a word.
My smile slowly faded.
“Did something happen?”
Still, they remained silent.
“Where is my husband?”
That was when I spotted Luke.
Wyatt's closest colleague.
He was making his way toward me, moving slowly.
Far too slowly.
His face had gone pale.
For a moment, I felt foolish for being so worried.
I raised the lunch bag.
“I'm so glad you're here. Can you tell me where Wyatt is?”
Luke stopped right in front of me.
He looked at the bag.
Then he raised his eyes to my face.
Something shifted in his expression.
And without warning, tears began gathering in his eyes.
My stomach sank.
“Luke?”
He started to speak, but then closed his mouth again.
“What happened?” I whispered.
He glanced around the hallway, almost as though he were hoping someone else would step forward and explain everything in his place.
Then he turned his attention back to me.
“He hasn't told you anything, has he?”
The bag slipped slightly in my grasp.
“Told me what?”
Luke's jaw clenched.
Behind him, Beth dropped her gaze to the floor.
And all at once, I realized that every person standing there knew something about my husband that I didn't.
Something serious enough that the adults around me were afraid to say it aloud.
I tightened my grip on the lunch bag.
“Luke,” I said, “where is Wyatt?”
He drew a slow breath.
May you like
Then he reached for my arm.
And in that instant, I knew that whatever he was about to tell me would divide my life into two parts: everything that came before, and everything that came after.
