At six twelve that morning, my phone had buzzed with an urgent call from St.

Luke Memorial Hospital.

“Dr.

Miller, we have a critical six-year-old girl incoming — severe blunt abdominal trauma, suspected ruptured spleen, and her blood pressure is crashing fast.” The head nurse’s voice was tight and fast over the speaker.

I stared at my white wedding gown, hanging on the closet door in the gray dawn light.

Then I looked over at Andrew, still fast asleep under the sheets, undisturbed.

I grabbed my coat and scribbled a note on his nightstand: An extreme emergency came in and I have to go operate right now.