“The good news”—Novak cleared her throat—“is that the liver can actually be divided. It regenerates. So as long as there is enough blood supply, we’re optimistic.”
“Optimistic,” the mom echoed, like someone had tossed her a rope she could cling to.
“Optimistic, yes.” Novak nodded slightly. A pause stretched, weighed down by words she’d yet to say, words we all knewwere coming. “That said,” she continued, her voice quiet yet clear, “this is still one of the most complex surgeries we’ve ever attempted. It will take many hours, with two full surgical teams working side by side. The risks are significant.”
Mr. Jackson inhaled sharply, gaze sliding to his girls. “How significant?”
No way to sugarcoat this, Jesus. I held my breath as the room seemed to shrink in on itself.
“There’s a real possibility that one twin could do well while the other struggles.” Novak’s head tilted just the slightest hint. “It depends on how the blood vessels divide or if there are complications during surgery. There’s also a small but very real risk that neither survives. But I want to be clear: in a center like ours, with the resources we have? Survival is not just possible, but much more likely than not. We cannot promise that outcome, though.”
Mrs. Jackson blinked a couple of times, her voice thick. “We understand.”
My gaze slid to the twins. One of them twitched in her sleep, tiny fingers curled against her sister’s pudgy arm. It hadn’t seemed real before—abstract scans and medical terms, glossy photos, simulations. Now? It was so real it made my teeth ache.
“What we can promise,” Novak added after a second that thrummed in my bones, “is that we will prepare for every scenario. Our job is to give them the best chance at independent, healthy lives. If all goes as planned, your daughters can go on to live much like any other children—playing, running. Growing up together, but separately.”
Fuck. And this,thiswas why Novak headed the department. I ducked my head to hide emotions I should be able to control much better, awe crawling over my skin, hot and cold at once.
I was part of this, part of the chain that decided whether these two babies got a real shot at life. Even if all I did was readout vitals and hold suction, Jesus, worth it. All the nights I’d crashed face-first into bed, all the skipped meals, the marrow-deep exhaustion—worth it.
The mother’s eyes were wet, the father’s shoulders dropping by the barest margin. “Tuesday,” he said, like a prayer, and Novak nodded.
“Tuesday.”
An answer.
I spent the weekend in a frazzled state. What if I messed up? What if I forgot how to use my hands and dropped stuff just when it was needed? What if Novak asked for something and I didn’t know what she meant?
More than once, I reached for my phone and started typing a text to Jesse. Then erased it again because he’d be evaluating me after this, one final time, and it felt wrong to bring my own anxieties to the party.
Fortunately, Khai and Tessa dragged me to some open-mic event on Saturday night, sticky floors and a dozen beers on tap, musicians that ranged from truly talented to “oops, sorry, I just stepped on my cat’s tail.” On Sunday, Neil, Sam, and I painted our kitchen in a happy sunshine yellow, leaving me to scrub dried paint out from under my nails, and by the time I ran to work on Monday, I felt…not settled, no. But ready for the week—ready for tomorrow.
The OR held a chill that kept minds sharp. I knew I’d be grateful twenty minutes in, but right now, I tried not to shiver as I entered the sterile area, following a couple of steps behind Novak and Jesse.
God. The twins looked sosmall. Lights pooled over their tiny bodies, placed on a specially built surgical table that would splitin two once they separated. They were dwarfed by frames of blue fabric, warming mattresses underneath so they wouldn’t get cold in the hours ahead.
“Treat it like choreography,” Novak said. “Step by step, just like we practiced. Call deviations the second you see them.”
The team divided—two twins, two ballet troupes. One story.
I stepped into my place and took a slow, deliberate breath. Another. Jesse glanced at me—just for half a second, as if checking in on a frequency only we could hear. Above the mask, his eyes were focused and sure, calm in a way that settled something in my blood. I steadied my hands and gave him a nod so tiny it barely counted.
The opening move felt like a prologue: a scalpel cut, deliberate and slow. Skin and tissue, every step double—double checks, double monitors, double glances at vitals. Each twin had her own heartbeat, painting lines. I positioned the retractor and caught a tremor in my elbows.Lock them. Breathe. Listen to the steady beeps, two whole futures in our hands.
“Two millimeters distal,” Jesse murmured to me. His fingers moved like the punctuation to Novak’s sentences—clamp here, pressure there, landing almost as soon as she asked.
I adjusted, and the view cleared.
Time slipped away like a falling tide. The world had narrowed to the glint of a clamp jaw, to bright lights on baby-pale skin, to the choreographed precision of hands much more experienced than mine. My mask was damp against my face, hair stuck to the back of my neck, shoulders burning. I fought to keep my breath and fingers steady.
“Now,” Novak said, an hour or five later. And?—
Oh.
The room inhaled, locking pins clicking as the split table eased apart. Each twin became their own island of blue drape and light. The space between them was no wider than a step,but it felt…enormous. Sacred. I blinked hard behind my mask, caught Jesse doing the same, the moment cutting sharp and clear.
Across the room, I heard Tay’s voice go urgent. Fuck—a slick of red where there shouldn’t be.
