Mind you, I’d always been good in emergencies. My mind could prioritize needs and get things taken care of in near-perfect order. When Juliet was eight and sliced open her hand so deeply the blood was pulsing out of it with every beat of her heart, I wrapped it tightly, told her to keep it over her head, and put her in the car rather than calling 911, mentally doing the math on how long it would take the ambulance crew to get there versus how quickly I could take her to the hospital myself. At the same time, I was wondering if I should tourniquet her arm, but I was thinking that might cut off her blood supply. I remembered my purse so I’d have our insurance card and grabbed her Pooh bear for comfort. Got a blanket to tuck around her in the car in case she was going into shock. We were at the hospital in under ten minutes, and I only went ten miles an hour over the speed limit, because I didn’t want to drive like a crazy person and cause an accident. That wouldn’t have helped anyone, for Pete’s sake.

When Sadie was bitten by the neighbors’ dog, same thing. Ice for her face, call to the police to secure the dog and get proof of rabies vaccination, call to Caro to ask her to pick up Juliet from school, call to the hospital to tell them we’d be needing the plastic surgeon, not some resident who wanted to practice stitching, thank you very much. Six months later, you could barely see the scar.

But now . . . with John in the ambulance already . . . I felt kind of . . . well . . . frozen.

Because tomorrow, I was planning to tell my husband that I’d be filing for divorce.

And even with that, and though I’d often pictured myself a happy widow . . .

I did not ever see this moment actually happening.

Unresponsive. Not breathing.

“Barb?”

I looked up. I was still at my desk. Lindsey, the dear girl, had her coat on. “Why don’t I drive you?” she said. Guess she knew, then.

“That’s—that’s a good idea, Linds. Thank you, hon.”

My hands were shaking as I grabbed my purse. Things seemed to be moving in slow motion. I should’ve been well on my way to the hospital right now, but instead, I wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

“Don’t forget your coat,” she said, because I had.

Then time sped up, and we were on 95, and I had Juliet on the phone, and she would be on her way as soon as her sitter got there. I don’t know what I said to her, to be honest.