Ashes in My Right Hand

Synopsis

Oliver spent twenty minutes searching for Grace in the fire while I was still trapped inside. I didn't blame him. Her father had died saving his life. But when the firefighters finally pulled me out, my right hand was crushed to pulp by a fallen beam. That was the hand that had performed five hundred delicate neurosurgery procedures. Oliver glanced at it in the hospital, his brow creased. "Grace has a weak heart. She can't take any shock. They can reattach your hand. Just don't cry about the pain in front of her." Later, the hand was reattached, but all the nerves were dead. Oliver said, "Maybe it's better this way. You can't be a surgeon anymore. Now you can focus on giving us a baby. Grace needs looking after. You'll be here for her." I looked at my useless, trembling hand and calmly slipped the high-risk epidemic relief volunteer application into my bag. "Fine. Whatever you say." He didn't know that once the application was approved, I would erase my social security number, change my name, and vanish from this world completely. As for the spouse's signature? He'd signed it yesterday without a second thought, too busy rushing me to give up the master bedroom for Grace.