The first night I was transferred to a new hospital for my shift, I ran into my newlywed husband, Maxwell Delgado. The same man who'd told me he was away on a business trip.
He was on his knees outside the operating room. On the gurney beside him lay a pregnant woman hemorrhaging as she went into labor.
Maxwell seized my hand in a death grip, his desperate pleas ringing in my ears.
"Doctor, please, you have to save her!"
The nurse beside me held out the surgical consent form in front of him.
"We need a family member's signature before we can operate. What's your relationship to the patient?"
Maxwell took the pen. His hands trembled so badly the signature came out jagged.
"She's my wife."
The words knocked the air from my lungs. A memory flashed through my mind: Maxwell, just one month ago, smiling as he placed our marriage certificate in my hands.
"Sapphire Simmons, from today on, we're officially husband and wife."
He must have noticed me freeze, because he looked up through bloodshot eyes, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
I ducked my head quickly, adjusting the mask over the bridge of my nose to hide my expression, then turned and pushed open the operating room doors.
"We'll do everything we can for the patient."
But as for whatever had existed between us, I was fairly certain it had just been pronounced dead.
……
After a round of emergency treatment, the patient stabilized. The tension in the operating room eased, and one of my colleagues leaned over, whispering gossip under her breath.
"I heard the two of them were going at it so hard that's what caused all this."
"The woman's practically at her due date, and her husband couldn't keep his hands off her. Young people these days really do risk their lives for love..."
My hands slowed for a few seconds. The image of Maxwell kneeling outside the OR doors blurred and merged with another memory: Maxwell down on one knee, a ring in his hand.
"Sapphire, marry me. For the rest of my life, you'll be the only woman I ever touch. I swear it."
Then came our wedding night. He'd picked up every piece of clothing I'd taken off and put it back on me, his face twisted with pain and conflict.
"I'm sorry, Sapphire."
"I made a vow at my mother's grave to observe three years of mourning for her. This is the third year. Just wait for me a little longer."
I'd believed him. And now my reward was standing in this operating room, fighting to save the child he'd made with someone else.
A bitter smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.
So the reason he never touched me had nothing to do with honoring the dead. He simply didn't want me.
The surgery wrapped up smoothly. I cradled the newborn in my arms.
She barely weighed anything, yet the heaviness pressing down on my chest was suffocating.
When I pushed open the OR doors, Maxwell shot to his feet and rushed over.
His eyes were threaded with red, unable to contain his worry.
"How's Olivia?"
Olivia Walker. The name on the patient chart. The woman Maxwell had just called his wife.
A complete stranger to me. He'd never once mentioned her.
I placed the baby in his arms and offered my congratulations.
"Mother and daughter are both safe. The surgery went well."
The tension drained from Maxwell's face in an instant. He looked at me with a gratitude reserved for strangers.
"Thank you, Doctor. What's your name?"
Behind the surgical cap and mask, Maxwell hadn't recognized me.
I stared into his eyes, searching for even a trace of guilt.
"Simmons. You can call me Dr. Simmons."
Maxwell's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Olivia's bed was wheeled out from behind me at that exact moment.
"Maxwell..."
She lay on the bed, utterly drained, barely able to lift her voice.
Maxwell shoved past me without a second thought and hurried to her side. He held the baby in one arm and gathered Olivia's hand into his free palm, speaking to her in a tone so tender I had never once heard him use it before.
