“Yes, sir.” Her sarcasm could scorch a hole in the ground.
After Millie leaves a urine sample and has had her blood drawn, an ultrasound tech appears with a rolling sonogram machine. Despite the insistent questions I ask, he won’t reveal anything.
Once he’s gone, the nurse informs us that she’ll be taken for a CT scan next. The symphony of the hospital—rhythmic beeping, overhead announcements, murmurs exchanged between members of the staff—is the soundtrack to our silence.
“What if they found something?” Millie eventually asks, her voice laced with nerves.
Clutching her hand, I rub the delicate skin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Oh my god, what if I need surgery?” A sob escapes her pale lips. “I’ve never even broken a bone or gotten stitches.”
“You’re so?—”
“I know, I know.” She drops her head back against the elevated hospital bed. “I’m being dramatic.”
I run my fingertips through her fine hair in soothing strokes. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
She holds my gaze, her beautiful eyes clouded with tears.
“You’re so right to feel this way, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere.”
Her smile is weak and tired, but it’s genuine.
I drag my fingers up and down her arm, distracting myself from my own worries by focusing on the feel of her velvety skin. I’m nervous, too, but I must be brave for her.
Her eyes flutter closed, and for the next hour, she sleeps, her chest rising and falling slowly.
When a nurse noisily breezes into the room, Millie startles abruptly, confusion flashing across her face. I squeeze her hand, hoping the gesture will soothe her.
Unfortunately, they won’t let me go with her for the CT, so I’m left behind in the stale triage room with no company except my obnoxious bouncing knees. I reach for my phone multiple times to call Cam or Joey, but ultimately decide I should wait for Millie’s permission.
Finally, she’s wheeled back in, and a few minutes later, a doctor joins us.
“Hello, Amelia, my name is Dr. Renz. I’m an ob-gyn,” the woman announces as she sanitizes her hands at the door. She sits on a stool with wheels and rolls across the tile until she’s at Millie’s side. “Your labs came back. Negative pregnancy test. However, your hemoglobin is a little low. And since you’re bleeding, it’s my recommendation that you have a blood transfusion. After reviewing your labs and symptoms, I suspect endometriosis, though I can’t be sure without further testing. We did find a cyst on your ovary, but?—”
“What?” Millie goes rigid, her hand clenching mine. “Am I going to need surgery?”
“No, no,” the doctor says with a gentle smile. “We can treat the cyst with an NSAID like ibuprofen or naproxen and birth control. That’ll help with the bleeding too.”
Rubbing circles on the top of Millie’s hand, I clear my throat. “A blood transfusion? That sounds serious.”
“It is,” the doctor replies. “But it’s common, and we’ll take good care of your wife, Mr. Greer.”
My stomach dips at those words.Wife.Mr. Greer.
“We’ll monitor you overnight and likely send you home in the morning,” she says. “In a couple of days, you’ll feel like a new woman.” With a pat to Millie’s thigh, she rolls back a foot or so. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll send someone in to admit you, and we’ll do our best to find a room with a chair big enough for your husband to sleep in.” She eyes me up and down.
“It’s okay,” Millie says. “He’s not staying.”
“Amelia.” I loom over her. “You’re my wife,” I say loud enough for the entire hospital to hear. “I’m staying.” With that, I kiss her on the forehead and slink back into my seat, but I keep my eyes locked firmly with hers.
“I should call my parents,” she finally says, breaking the staring contest we’ve been engaged in.
Only then do I realize we’re alone. Standing, I yank her phone from my pocket and hold it out.
As she takes it from me, she eyes me like she wants me to give her privacy. Instead of leaving, I drop back into my seat and cross my arms.
Millie doesn’t beat around the bush. She quickly informs her parents that she needs a transfusion, her voice laced with fear as she speaks. “No, no. Don’t fly out here. You won’t make it out in time anyway. Seriously, Dad, I’m fine.” She’s quiet for a moment, then she huffs a sigh. “I can take care of myself.”
