Don't Kneel at Our Door

Claire's POV

"Heart rate one-sixty. Sats at eighty-four."

The paramedic, a broad woman named Rosa, called out numbers while the backup ambulance swung hard onto Fifth Street. The IV bag above Emily swayed on its hook like a pendulum.

"Is that bad?" I asked.

"It's not good. Keep talking to her. Keep her calm."

I wrapped my hand around Emily's fingers. They were cold. Cold like she'd been playing in snow, and it was only September.

The pink hospital band slid loose on her tiny wrist. *MERCER, EMILY. DOB 03/14.*

"Mommy?" Her voice came thin through the mask. "Did Daddy forget I'm sick?"

The old answers lined up in my mouth. *He's busy. He's working. He loves you so much.*

Five years ago, the night of her diagnosis, Daniel had sat by her crib until dawn. He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He held her foot through the bars and told me, *If it saves her, I'll lose everything else. I don't care. Take it all.*

Tonight, all it took was a birthday cake.

I didn't give her an excuse.

"I don't know, baby. But I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Not for one second."

She blinked at me slowly. "Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

Her little finger hooked mine. The monitor flashed red, then green, then red again.

"Sats eighty-two," Rosa said. "Driver, push it."

---

My phone buzzed against my hip. I'd set Lily's account to notify me months ago, back when I still told myself I was just being friendly.

A video started playing on its own.

I reached to swipe it away. Then a child's voice shouted through the tiny speaker.

"*Daddy! Daddy, look!*"

I froze.

Noah stood on a chair in front of a three-tier cake. Frosting smeared the silver cake knife in his fist. Daniel stood behind him, one arm around his waist so he wouldn't fall.

He didn't correct him.

He bent down and kissed the boy's forehead.

On his wrist, the braided leather bracelet caught the light. I'd bought it for our tenth anniversary. Three small charms. *C. D. E.*

Lily's face slid into frame, glowing. She tilted the camera toward herself.

"This year," she said softly, "my baby finally has a whole family."

Behind her, Daniel's voice. Warm. Easy. The voice he used to use on me.

"Make a wish, Noah. Daddy is right here, and he's not going anywhere."

The ambulance lights flashed across my screen. Red. White. Red. Over Daniel's smiling face.

"Ma'am?" Rosa glanced at me. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I turned the phone face down on my knee.

Face down. That's how Daniel kept his, for the last six months. On the kitchen counter. On the nightstand. *Why are you snooping, Claire? Don't you trust me?*

The cardiology follow-up in July. *Client dinner, I can't move it.* The same Saturday, a photo on Lily's page. Daniel on the sidelines of a kids' soccer field. Orange slices. A foam finger.

I had seen every piece. I just hadn't let myself put them together.

Now they snapped into place, one after another, like a lock clicking shut.

"Mommy," Emily mumbled. "Who's yelling Daddy?"

"Nobody, sweetheart. Just a TV show."

---

The doors of Children's Heart Center slammed open before we even stopped.

Dr. Patel was waiting. White coat, sneakers, no time for hello.

"Claire. Walk with me."

We ran beside the gurney down the emergency corridor. The wheels squeaked on every turn.

"Her rhythm's unstable," he said. "She's going in and out of a dangerous arrhythmia. We stabilize her, then we take her into surgery tonight. Not next week. Tonight."

"Tonight," I repeated.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I understand."

He shoved a white form at me on a clipboard. *Consent for Emergency Surgical Procedure.* My name was already typed at the bottom. The line beside it was empty.

They parked the gurney in a bright bay. Nurses swarmed in. I squeezed through and pressed my lips to Emily's forehead. Her skin was pale and damp.

She grabbed my wrist. Harder than I expected.

"Mommy. After my surgery, I want strawberry pancakes."

"Okay."

"Daddy's pancakes. He promised. He said he'd make them the special way, with the face."

Every Sunday, for four years, Daniel had flipped pancakes in his boxer shorts. Strawberry eyes. Whipped-cream smile. Emily used to stand on a stool and clap.

The last Sunday was three months ago.

"How about I learn?" I said. "I'll make them. I'll even do the face."

She wrinkled her nose. "You burn toast."

A laugh burst out of me. Loud, wrong, in the middle of all those beeping machines. A nurse looked up.

"I'll practice," I said. "A hundred times. Until they're perfect."

Emily opened her fist. A pink plastic hair clip sat in her palm, the one shaped like a bow. Her bunny socks poked out from under the blanket, one pulled halfway off.

"Hold this for me. So I don't lose it."

I took it.

Then she said, very quietly, "If Daddy comes after my surgery, can you tell him I waited?"

I couldn't breathe.

"I'll tell him, baby."

---

I pressed the clipboard against the wall. Uncapped the pen.

C-l-a-i—

The monitor screamed.

Not a beep. A long, piercing shriek.

"She's in V-fib!" a nurse shouted.

"Pads! Get the pads!"

Bodies closed around the bed. Someone tore Emily's gown open. I saw her bunny sock. Then I saw nothing but blue scrubs and moving arms.

"Emily!" I lunged forward.

A hand caught my shoulder. Firm. Not unkind.

"We need to get her into surgery now. Mrs. Mercer, please step back."

"That's my daughter—"

"I know. Step back so we can save her."

I stepped back.

"Charging. Clear!"

Her small body jerked under their hands. My knees nearly gave out.

"Rhythm?"

"Still unstable."

"Move. Move her now."

The gurney shot past me toward the surgical wing. I chased it down the hall. The red light above the double doors blinked on. *SURGERY IN PROGRESS.*

Something fell from the blanket and skidded across the tile.

The pink bow.

I must have dropped it. Or she had. I didn't know anymore.

Dr. Patel stopped at the doors and turned back to me. His mask hung under his chin. His eyes were very tired.

"Claire. I need you to hear me."

"Just say it."

"Her condition is critical. Nobody can promise she'll survive the night."

The doors swung shut behind him.

My phone vibrated in my hand.

Daniel. Finally. A reply to my voice message.

*Lily is emotionally unstable tonight. She's had a hard week. Stop creating panic over Emily, it's not helping anyone.*

I stared at the words until they blurred.

I didn't type anything.

My back met the wall. The concrete was cold through my sweater. I slid down until I hit the floor, the half-signed consent form crushed against my chest.

I reached out and picked up the little pink bow.

Above the doors, the red light kept burning.