Chapter 1 - The Weight of Oxygen
The ambulance smelled of sterile gauze, rubbing alcohol, and the sharp, artificial tang of the oxygen mask pressed against my face. The high-pitched, rhythmic hum of the fetal heart monitor filled the small space, a frantic, rapid beating that sounded less like life and more like an emergency broadcast.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
"Fetal heart rate is stabilizing at 135," the paramedic, a woman with kind, exhausted eyes named Sarah, said softly, adjusting the IV line in my right arm. "You're doing great, Lucy. Just keep breathing the oxygen. Deep, slow breaths for your baby girl."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My eyes were fixed on the small glass window of the ambulance doors, watching the flashing red and blue lights of the rescue vehicles paint the wet pavement of the Chicago street outside.
Through the rain-streaked glass, I could see the silhouette of the crowd gathered outside the department store. And there, standing by the rear of Squad 3, was my husband.
Alex still had his heavy yellow turnout gear halfway unzipped, his helmet pushed back on his dark hair. But he wasn't looking at the ambulance. He was standing beside an stretcher where Valerie sat wrapped in a yellow shock blanket. He was holding a bottle of water to her lips, his hand resting gently on the nape of her neck as she sobbed against his chest.
Beside him stood the rookie, Mark.
Mark looked pale, his face smudged with soot, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion. He was staring down at his open palm, where the simple platinum wedding ring I had handed him reflected the flashing red light of the fire engine.
I watched as Mark stepped forward, interrupting the quiet moment between my husband and his ex. He said something to Alex, his face tightening with a sudden, sharp anger that even the distance couldn't hide.
Alex frowned, turning away from Valerie. Mark reached out and dropped the ring directly into Alex’s gloved hand.
I saw the exact second the realization hit my husband.
His body went completely rigid. He stared at the ring, his head snapping toward the line of ambulances parked along the curb. His gray eyes searched the crowd, suddenly frantic, suddenly desperate, looking for the one person he had completely forgotten to save.
He took a step toward my ambulance, his face twisting into a mask of pure panic.
"Sarah," I whispered through the oxygen mask, my voice cracking like dry wood.
The paramedic looked down at me. "Yes, honey?"
"Tell the driver to go," I breathed, my fingers tightening over my belly, where my daughter gave a sudden, sharp kick—a fierce declaration of survival. "Don't let him in. Please."
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Sarah looked at my face, saw the absolute finality in my eyes, and tapped the partition window behind her. "We're code three, let's move! Now!"
The ambulance surged forward, the tires screeching against the wet asphalt, leaving Alex standing in the middle of the street, clutching a hollow circle of platinum as the darkness of my new life swallowed me.
