“It’ll take me ten minutes,” I hear myself say. “Call me when you get there.”

I don’t know how I do it. The mundane small things that usually require no special effort from me. Buckling my safety belt. Maneuvering the steering wheel. Waiting on traffic lights. Especially as I slide into the designated parking spot in front of the emergency room. I kill the engine, curl my fingers around the steering wheel, and let out a scream so shrill it makes me nauseous.

Then I wipe my tears, get out of the car, and walk over to the emergency room’s reception. The receptionist directs me to another wing. Apparently, Dom is in surgery. I’m in some kind of a waiting room, with depressing blue chairs, a smaller reception area, and big windows overlooking the parking lot.

I’m standing in front of a set of doors leading to a hallway with another set of doors. Dom is somewhere back there, though I’m not sure what kind of surgery they’re performing on him. I don’t know anything, and it is driving me mad.

I don’t allow myself to think about the fact that his last visit was to Walgreens, to get me tampons. For my fake period. I don’t dwell on how stupid it is. How meaningless. I can’t do this to myself right now. Instead, I pace from corner to corner, playing with my diamond ring on my finger. He can’t just die. People don’t get engaged and die on the same day. This is not how the world works.

A petite blonde woman in blue scrubs dashes across the hallway toward the waiting room. She’s out of breath. Is she one of the doctors who is performing the surgery? Can she tell me anything? I’m about to ask her, but she bypasses me, slapping her hands over the reception desk.

“Belinda?”

“Dr. Nelson!” The receptionist stands up and reaches over the counter to give her a brief hug. “I’m so sorry. What a nightmare.”

The blonde lets out a low moan, leaning into Belinda’s shoulder. “I called Dr. Hansley. He’s performing the surgery right now. It’s a penetrating brain injury.”

“Did he say how it’s going?”

The blonde shakes her head no.

I tell myself that they might not be talking about Dom. It’s juvenile to think there’s only one surgery going on in this hospital at this moment. I stop pacing, listening to their conversation nonetheless. It’s the only thing I can do right now.

The blonde notices my presence for the first time. She turns to me, her face open and friendly despite her obvious distress. “Sorry, are you waiting for someone?”

“Yes.” I find my voice—barely. “Ah . . . Dominic Graves.”