“Damn it. Get the A-team ready. You know who. Schedule the OR. Page the head of neuro, I want him there too. I’ll be there in twenty or less. Email me what I need to know.”
I race up the stairs, forcing deep breaths to school my face so I don’t scare Lily.
“Listen, girls. Something happened at the hospital, and I’m needed there.” Tossing Mia the car keys I grabbed on my way up, I warn her this might keep me there all day. “Take Lily to school and pick her up. Please sort dinner. Someone from my team will keep you posted, and I’ll call when I can.”
She throws the keys right back. “Are you crazy? I can’t drive on the wrong side of the road. You take the car. We’ll get a taxi, right, Lils?”
My Sunshine’s stare clouds over. “Something bad happened, Dad?”
“It did. To a friend of mine. I’m going to go and help the best way I can. Because that’s what we do in this family—we help others.”
Lily nods, eyes clearing.
“We’ll be fine,” Mia cuts in. “I’ll keep you posted too. Don’t worry about us. You’ll be working, and we’ll be having fun. As it’s supposed to be. Hope your friend gets better. Now go.”
I sprint back down, leave the kitchen as it is, and head out—keys and phone in hand, nothing else. I just need to get there.
* * *
The hospital doors swallow me whole, and the noise inside is nothing like home. No laughter, no squeals. Just the low thrum of urgency.
By the time I push through to the scrub room, the team’s already there. I watch them through the glass, feet getting steadier beneath me. My team. My people. Theydon’t ask why I came back early—they just nod, ready, never missing a beat.
I scrub in, the ritual both familiar and foreign, each motion mechanical, automatic. Soap to elbow, rinse, repeat. My hands move, but my chest pounds. It should never be this personal.
Kate’s voice echoes in my head: her dry laugh, her lectures, the way she always told us, “Precision is respect. You respect your patient by giving them nothing less than precise care.”
She’s lying in there now. And she asked for me.
The mask covers half my face, but it doesn’t hide the tightness in my jaw. I push through the OR doors, and the brightness slams into me. Drapes are up, monitors beeping, instruments laid out in perfect order.
She’s not under yet, but we don’t have time for pleasantries.
“You gambled with time. You know better.”
“Wouldn’t trust anyone else, Dr. Preston. You’re the best orthopedic spine surgeon I’ve ever trained.” I hold her hand, and she holds mine tighter. “The pupil who outgrew the master. Now fix me. I’ve got three kids waiting at home.”
“Sure, no pressure.” I wink and nod to the anesthesiologist. Once she’s down, I address the room. “All right,” I say, my voice steady when nothing else is. “Let’s move. Exposure first. Decompress fast. Stabilize clean.”
For the next eight hours, I excel in the only other place I belong.
Gloved hands pass instruments into mine, metal cold, grip steady.
The world outside disappears. There’s only the spine in front of me—shattered, unstable, begging to be rebuilt.
Once the surgery is over and Kate is out of danger, I walk her to the Post-Anesthesia Care Unit and stay until one of my interns takes the chair at her side. He’ll sit there as long as it takes for the drugs to wear off. I pull my favorite nurse onto the case too, and tell them to page me the second she starts to wake. Then I text our head of neuro with an update and let him know I’ll need him later for her follow-up exams.
I unlock my office and step into my second home. Feels like I never left. Before sitting down, I grab my phone and scroll through Mia’s last five messages—updates, photos, little glimpses of their day. I exhale, shoulders dropping back where they belong.
The tempting thought returns.This could work.
I sink into my chair and check the time. Almost four. They’re home, buried in homework, and judging by the pictures, surrounded by far too many plushies, if you ask me. Apparently, Lily’s teacher called Mia earlier; said she didn’t want to stay for the after-school program, so Mia picked her up. My Sunshine still hasn’t cleared her skies, but she knew where to go. Home. And she trusted Mia enough to make the call.
This puts me at ease. Enough to type an e-mail to the board, announcing the date of my return and new working hours. Emergencies aside, I’ll be having breakfast and taking my child to school every day. I'll also meet her at home by 6:30 p.m.
I’ve trained my team well. April has more than provenherself. Callie has stepped up and above whenever April was out. I trust them without question.
No more missed moments and milestones. I’ll be there, watching my daughter grow up, being part of her daily life, building memories and the kind of bond only time can forge. The kind I’ll never again let work take from me.
