The woman’s seatbelt is stuck, glass shards are embedded in her skin near her kidney. Yanking frantically on the seatbelt, a sheen of sweat coats my forehead. Goddamn it!
Suddenly, a man appears at my side, a knife in hand. Without a word, without guidance, he slices through the fabric, setting her free. With all our strength, we pull the woman out of the car and drag her toward her three children.
“Thank you,” I cough, my throat burning I attempt to catch my breath.
The man nods, his face grim. “We need to get back. The fire’s getting bigger.” I turn to head back to the dad, but he grabs my arm. “You should wait. The fire department is almost here. It’s too dangerous. It’s?—”
Maybe the boys are young enough that they won’t remember. Maybe they won’t spend the rest of their lives missing their father. Maybe they’ll grow up with healthy hearts and mended minds. Maybe they’ll survive because they have each other. Because they’ll have their mom. But there’s a chance this day could change the course of their lives. There’s a chance this moment, this snapshot in history, will forever alter how they live, how they love, how they forgive.
Everything.
No. Heneedsto survive.
They all deserve to survive.
Rushing back to the vehicle, I gasp, my lungs burning with each hacking cough. The blistering heat from the fire scorches my hands and face, but I push through the agony. Desperately, I fumble with the dad’s seatbelt, my fingers raw and trembling.
Finally, I unclick it and link my arms around him.
Our eyes meet, and in that split second, before the world ceases to exist, I see my own father, my mother, my sister. I see Alison.
And then a deafening explosion erupts, and I see nothing.
THE LEFT BEHIND
EMERY
I’ve alwaysassociated hospitals with death. Even when I was given another chance at life, this place, these walls, they reminded me of endings. So much loss has crossed these halls. So much grief.
If you leave the front doors with nothing broken, nothing left behind,no oneleft behind—it’s a blessing that shouldn’t be taken for granted.
I haven’t left yet. Nothing has been taken. I was certain I’d see death today, whether mine or my child’s. But we’re still here. Safe. The pain is gone. For now.
I lie in the sterile white ER bed, the fluorescent lights overhead beaming down at me. Bright. Too bright. The heart monitor beeps to my right, Quin’s face twisted with concern as the doctor speaks with us.
“Miss Jones, you have preeclampsia,” she says. “Weneed to manage your blood pressure and ensure the baby’s lungs remain healthy. We’d like to move you to a private room for monitoring for a week, but you’ll be discharged from the ER shortly. We also need to avoid high-stress situations…”
As she continues to speak, going over treatment plans and new medication, my mind starts to wander, picking up on the chaotic chatter from the front of the ER doors.
“Male, thirty-three, sustained second and third-degree burns. Shrapnel lodged in his lower right abdomen, BP dropping.”
The urgency in their voices sends a chill down my spine.
“Book OR three. We need to take him to surgery.”
I crane my neck as the commotion grows louder. The gurney rushes past my bed, and I catch a glimpse of the man on it. My eyes widen, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Oh my God.” Terror courses through my veins, my gut, every single limb and atom. It can’t be. No. “Damon. That’s Damon.” I whip my head toward Quin. “That’s Damon!”
“Emery!”
“Miss Jones!”
Ignoring the pleas from the doctor and Quin, I rip out my IVs, the sharp sting barely registering. I stumble toward the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest.
“What happened?” I cry out, desperate for answers as I catch glimpses of Damon’s burned and broken body being wheeled away.
Oh God…
