“Save my baby.”

The doctor gave a quick nod and turned back toward the double doors.

“We are moving him to the pediatric intensive care unit,” he said over his shoulder.

“A nurse will bring you back as soon as he is stable.”

The heavy doors swung shut, cutting off the rhythmic, high-pitched beeping of the monitors inside.

I stared at the wood grain of the doors, my hands clutching the vinyl armrests of the wheelchair.

The fluorescent lights overhead hummed a low, constant vibration.

The smell of rubbing alcohol and industrial floor wax felt thick in my throat.

“He’s in the best place he can be, Marissa,” Arthur said softly.

He sat down in one of the vinyl waiting room chairs next to me.

His knees crackled as he bent them, a reminder of his years on the fire engines.

“Landon should be here,” I whispered, staring at my lap.

I was still wearing my faded maternity sweatpants.

They were stained with baby spit-up and dirt from when I crawled through the yard.

“Landon is on a boat,” Arthur said, his voice flat and hard.