No Longer His Captive Surgeon Wife

Amy sat paralyzed in her chair for ten long minutes.

She finally reached for a tissue, wiped the smear of blood from her lower lip, and forced herself to stand.

She needed caffeine. She needed to move. But she couldn't risk taking the main elevators and running into Beckham's security detail again.

She walked to the side of her office and pushed open the heavy fire door. The concrete stairwell was cold and echoed with her every step.

She walked down one flight to the third floor. The pediatric VIP wing was here, and it had a vending machine that sold terrible, strong black coffee.

She pushed open the third-floor fire door and stepped into the quiet, carpeted hallway.

As she rounded the corner toward the vending machines, a sound stopped her in her tracks.

It was a tiny, muffled sob.

The instinct of a doctor overrode her exhaustion. Amy turned her head, scanning the empty corridor.

Behind the shadow of a large, decorative Roman pillar at the end of the hall, she saw a small figure.

It was a little boy, maybe five years old. He was wearing a custom-tailored miniature suit, but right now, the expensive fabric was covered in dust. He was crouched on the floor, hugging his knees.

Amy's eyes immediately locked onto his bare knee. A fresh, angry scrape was oozing bright red blood down his pale calf.

She softened her footsteps and slowly approached him.

The boy's head snapped up.

Amy froze. When she saw his deep, striking blue eyes, her heart physically skipped a beat. A strange, heavy sensation settled in her chest. He looked so incredibly familiar, though she couldn't place why.

She dropped to one knee, ignoring the dirt on the floor.

"Hey there," she whispered in soft, gentle English. "Are you okay?"

The boy bit his lower lip. He didn't say a word. He just stared at her with intense, defensive eyes, like a frightened animal ready to bolt.

Amy reached into the deep pocket of her white coat and pulled out her portable first aid kit.

She unzipped it and pulled out an alcohol wipe.

As she tore the foil packet open, the boy flinched, shrinking back until his small spine hit the wall.

"It's okay," Amy cooed, holding her hands up, palms open, to show she meant no harm. "I'm a doctor. I just want to clean that up so it doesn't hurt."

She slowly reached out. Her fingers gently wrapped around his thin ankle.

The boy's entire body gave a violent shudder, but he didn't kick her away.

Amy moved with agonizing slowness. She dabbed the alcohol wipe around the edges of the wound, wiping away the sticky blood.

As she cleaned, she leaned her head down and blew a soft, cool stream of air over the scrape to ease the stinging pain.

She felt the rigid tension in the boy's small shoulders slowly melt away. The hard, defensive glare in his blue eyes softened into something vulnerable.

Amy peeled the backing off a bandage with little green dinosaurs on it and pressed it carefully over the cut.

She looked up, offering him a warm, reassuring smile. "All done. Good as new."

She placed her hands on her thighs, preparing to stand up and leave.

Suddenly, a chubby little hand shot out.

The boy grabbed the hem of her white coat. His tiny knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping the fabric.

Amy froze. When the boy grabbed her hem, an indescribable wave of sorrow and familiarity violently gripped her heart. Her throat tightened painfully, a suffocating knot forming instantly. Tears pricked the back of her eyes as if some deep, buried part of her soul was awakened by this tiny touch. Unbidden, the memory of the cold operating room five years ago-the blood, the monitor flatlining, the baby she never got to hold-crashed into her mind.

Her hands moved on their own. She reached out and gently stroked the soft, messy curls on the boy's head.

It was as if the boy had found a safe harbor. He suddenly lunged forward, throwing his small arms around Amy's neck, burying his face in her shoulder.

Amy's body went rigid for half a second. Then, she closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his small back, and hugged the strange child with a desperate, aching tightness.