Chapter 1

"There's only one last bag of O-negative blood type left in the blood bank. But our patients are both in critical need." The nurse, Susan Hill, burst into the emergency room, clutching the blood bag tightly in her arms.

Claire Goodwin and I were both lying in front of Henry Palmer. She was on Bed 1, and I was on Bed 2.

Claire was still lucid enough to cry and reach out, grabbing at Henry's sleeve.

My face, though, was covered in blood, and a sharp, crushing pain tore through my chest. Even holding my eyes open took every ounce of strength I had left.

"Dr. Palmer, both patients are losing blood," Susan said quickly. "The central blood bank is sending more, but it'll take at least forty minutes. Who gets this bag now?"

Henry stood between the two beds and hesitated for only two seconds. Then he said, "Give it to Claire."

My heart monitor suddenly let out a sharp beep. It was as if the machine was asking the question I couldn't voice: 'Why?'

Susan instinctively glanced at me. "Bed 2's blood pressure is falling fast, too. If we wait another forty minutes, she might not make it."

Henry had already taken the blood bag and hung it himself beside Claire's bed. The dark red blood slowly traveled down the clear tube, drop by drop, into her veins.

"Claire's abdominal bleeding is worse. We need to make sure she's stable first," he said, his voice calm and decisive. That was the tone I knew so well.

He had saved so many lives. Whenever there was an emergency, he never hesitated to make life-or-death decisions.

I'd always admired him so much. I used to think marrying a man who fought against death every day was the greatest luck I'd ever had.

Only now did I finally realize the truth. When it was Claire and me lying side by side in front of him, it never mattered who the other patient was. He would always choose her.

*****

"Henry," Claire called out weakly.

Henry held her cold hand tightly. "I'm here."

"Am I going to die?"

"No," he said, leaning in, his voice gentle in a way I hadn't heard in years. "I'm not going to let you die."

I wanted to laugh, but there was nothing but blood under my oxygen mask. I couldn't twitch the corner of my mouth.

Henry, you wouldn't let her die. But what about me?

I forced my eyes open. Through the chaos of people rushing around, I saw his white coat sweep past my bed.

He was so close. One quick glance at me and he would notice the faint scar between the thumb and index finger of my right hand. And he might have recognized me.

That scar was from our first year of marriage. It was the first time he ever tried cooking for me. A kitchen knife slipped off the counter, and I had caught it on instinct.

The wound was deep. He had stitched the cut himself, five stitches in total.

He held my hand, his eyes red with tears. He said he'd never let me get hurt again.

With the last bit of strength I had, I lifted my right hand. My fingers shook in the air, falling short of the hem of his coat.

"Bed 2 heart rate is crashing. Push epinephrine. Start CPR!" A nurse stepped forward and blocked my view entirely. My hand fell limp against the mattress.

Henry glanced back. For a moment, I thought he'd finally see me.

But he only looked at the monitor. "Keep going," he said and then turned back to Claire.

Her blood pressure was rising. My heartbeat, though, was slowing down, with each weak beat.

I didn't blame him right away. I was a vet, and I'd been through emergencies before. I knew that when resources were scarce, doctors had to make hard choices.

Claire was still conscious and responsive, and her abdominal bleeding was clearly worse. Henry probably made his decision based on who was in more critical condition.

It wasn't because she was Claire, and it wasn't because I was some nobody, too weak to call out for help. That was what I told myself, anyway.

But then Henry suddenly spoke up, "Susan, monitor Claire closely. She has a low pain tolerance. Start her on the pain pump in time."

Susan, doing compressions on me, paused. "Dr. Palmer, Bed 2 needs you, too."

But Henry didn't come over. "Follow the protocol."

Follow the protocol? So my survival was only another case to be handled by the rules. But Claire received personalized attention and protection from him directly.

The ER lights were blindingly bright. I stared up at the ceiling, but everything was fading to black.

In a daze, my mind drifted to the divorce papers on my dining table at home. I had already signed them.

I planned to hand them to Henry the previous night. I wanted to tell him I'd release him to pursue a future with Claire and free myself from our broken marriage.

The copy of my acceptance letter from the International Center for Animal Trauma Medicine was in my bag. I'd already booked a one-way flight, and in a month, I'd be gone.

For the first time in seven years, I didn't include him in my plans for the future.

But I never thought it would end like this. I didn't get to wait a month. I didn't get to see him sign the divorce papers. I died in his emergency room.