Lorraine
The soft hum of the plane’s engines filled my ears, blending with the murmur of passengers engaged in quiet conversation. I shifted in my seat, glancing out the window at the clouds that stretched endlessly beneath us. The anticipation in my chest was unbearable. After a year of being apart, I was finally going to see my husband again. Hendrix and I had been married for two years, but the past twelve months had been spent in a long-distance haze—me in the U.S., dedicating my life to medicine, and him stationed in Mexico as a soldier. Our calls and video chats kept us tethered, but nothing compared to being in his arms.
I had kept this visit a secret. A surprise. A chance to reconnect, to feel like a wife again instead of just a voice on the other end of the line. Even better, I had secured a volunteer position at a local hospital for a week, an opportunity to do what I loved while being near him. Everything was perfect—until a sharp, anguished cry cut through the plane’s cabin.
"Please! My baby!" a woman’s voice gasped in pain, breaking through the peaceful lull of the flight.
I turned in my seat, my pulse quickening. A few rows ahead, a young woman clutched her stomach, her face twisted in agony. The panic in her eyes was raw, her hands trembling as she pleaded with the flight attendants.
"It hurts so much! Please, help me!" she sobbed, her voice strained.
Passengers murmured in concern, some craning their necks, others shifting uneasily. A flight attendant grabbed the intercom and called out the dreaded words:
"Is there a doctor on board?"
My body moved before my mind caught up. "I’m a doctor," I announced, already unbuckling my seatbelt. I ignored the frantic pounding of my heart as I hurried toward the woman. "I need space," I instructed firmly, kneeling beside her seat. "What’s your name?"
"Althea," she whimpered, sweat beading on her forehead. "I’m pregnant… I’m—please save my baby!"
My stomach clenched at her words. She wasn’t in labor, but the pain, the distress—there was a chance she was in the early stages of a miscarriage. I took a deep breath, pushing aside my emotions. Right now, I was a doctor first.
"Althea, I need you to take slow, deep breaths for me, okay?" I spoke in a calming tone, feeling for her pulse. "How far along are you?"
"Seventeen weeks," she choked out. "I—It just started hurting so badly out of nowhere."
I nodded, assessing her condition as quickly as I could with the limited resources available. "Flight attendants, I need water, cool compresses, and an oxygen mask just in case."
One of them rushed to comply while I gently palpated Althea’s abdomen. "I know you’re scared, but I need you to stay as calm as possible, okay? We’re going to land soon, and I’ll make sure you get immediate medical care."
"Thank you," she whispered, gripping my hand tightly. "Please… please call my husband when we land."
"Of course," I reassured her, my focus solely on keeping her stable.
The next few minutes felt like an eternity, but finally, the captain announced our descent. By the time we landed, paramedics were already waiting. I accompanied Althea onto the ambulance, my medical instincts refusing to let me leave her side. As we sped toward the hospital, she clutched my wrist weakly.
"My phone… call my husband," she begged.
I nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out her phone. My fingers hovered over the screen as I searched for the contact labeled "Husband."
The number flashed before me. My breath caught in my throat.
No.
I blinked, willing my eyes to be wrong, but they weren’t. The number was unmistakably familiar. I knew it by heart. I had dialed it countless times, left voicemails filled with love and longing, whispered it in the dark when I missed him most.
My husband’s number.
A cold wave of nausea rolled through me. My hand trembled as I pressed call. The dial tone rang once. Twice. Then—
"Baby? Why did you call?"
The air in my lungs turned to ice. It was Hendrix’s voice. The same deep timbre, the same affectionate undertone. For a moment, I was paralyzed, my mind scrambling for an explanation that made sense. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe—
"Sir," I forced out, my voice cracking. "Your wife is in the ambulance, experiencing severe pain. We’re taking her to the hospital now."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Then, his voice—urgent, panicked. "I’m on my way."
The line went dead. I sat frozen, the phone still pressed against my ear. My husband. Althea’s husband.
Hendrix.
He couldn't even recognize my voice because I had a bad cold and my voice was still hoarse.
The hospital came into view, but my vision blurred with unshed tears. I clenched my jaw, pushing down the storm of emotions threatening to consume me. The moment we arrived, the medical team sprang into action, welcoming me with gratitude for volunteering. I immediately told them who I was—that I was the volunteer doctor who was supposed to arrive tomorrow.
"Dr. Lorraine, we could use your help immediately," one of the doctors informed me.
"Of course," I murmured, shoving everything aside. Right now, I was a doctor first. A heartbroken wife second.
I changed into PPE quickly, desperate for something—anything—to ground me. Then, I stepped into Althea’s room, my heart hammering.
And there he was.
Hendrix.
Sitting beside Althea’s bed, his hand clasping hers, his gaze filled with worry. The same hands that used to hold me. The same eyes that once looked at me with love.
