He hated this part of his job. “Isabella has developed sepsis,” he informed them. Last week, one of his colleague’s patients had become septic and died within twenty-four hours.

Megan anxiously tucked her hair behind her ears. “How are you going to treat it?”

“Antibiotics. Additional medications for her blood pressure and cardiac function. Increased ventilation.”

“How long do you think it will take until she’s better?” Timothy asked.

“I don’t know.” There was no guarantee of “better” for Isabella. Her small body might have endured all it could take, in which case this would be the final blow. If she did recover, “better” for her would mean she’d still be so sick that she’d need this Pediatric Intensive Care Unit to keep her alive.

“Here’s what I can tell you for sure,” Sebastian said. “Those of us on staff are committed to doing everything we can to help her.” It made him furious that the best care and the best science couldn’t save them all.

“Can she remain on the transplant list?” Megan asked.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to remove her from the list. For now.”

Their faces fell. They knew that removing Isabella from the list meant removing her shot at survival.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said.

Weighted silence answered.

Isabella fidgeted.

Megan pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead, then took hold of her daughter’s hand. “I’m worried she’s uncomfortable.”

“She’s comfortable,” Sebastian said. “We wouldn’t allow her to be otherwise.” Not many years ago, children like Isabella had simply been protected from pain with palliative care until they died, a few days after their birth, in their parents’ arms.

Treatments had come a long way in a short time, and now parents almost always chose to intervene surgically. Even when the odds weren’t in their favor, they were willing to try a Hail Mary pass to give their child a chance at life.

“Several of our family members are coming by to visit her later today,” Megan said. “Do you hear that, sweetheart? A whole group of people who love you are on their way. They’ve met you, but they can’t wait for you to meet them.”

He saw it all the time—large interconnected families, hanging on every breath of their newest, youngest, sickest member. They crowded into waiting rooms during surgery. Filled sections of the cafeteria and lobby. They often brought balloons, stuffed animals, cookies.

Those big families always threw his own situation—the fact that he had no one but the Colemans—into perspective.

“Everyone at our church has been praying for Isabella,” Timothy said to Sebastian. “Her story has spread to other churches in Augusta, and we’ve heard that they’re all praying, too.”

“We’ll let them know about the sepsis,” Megan said, her voice cracking. “And they’ll double down on their conversations with God.”