When they had been married for seven months and autumn was bursting into color all around them, Lauren fainted again, this time at a work site, banging her head on a concrete post. Bruce the Mighty and Beneficent freaked out at all the blood, and he fainted, too—not exactly Pearl Churchwell Harris’s finest moment as a company. They were both taken to the hospital and put in side-by-side stalls in the ER.

“You always say to make an impression,” Lauren offered, holding a wad of gauze to her head.

“I was picturing something slightly less gory,” he said.

“How bad is my cut?” she asked, taking the gauze off. Eesh. Lots of blood.

“Don’t show me! Jesus! Do you want me to fire you?”

“You’re such a wuss,” she said. Josh was already on his way. She texted Jen, filling her in on the melodrama. Heads bleed a LOT, she typed.

“If we lose this account, it’s your fault,” Bruce said. “Eat breakfast, for the love of God.”

“I do eat breakfast. I have protein and carbs and fresh fruit every damn day. I just have low blood pressure.” She glanced at the monitor over her bed. Her blood pressure was low—94/52. O2 sat 93, heart rate 88, all fine. “Be nice to me, or I’m throwing this gauze your way.”

“Nurse? Can you sedate her or something?” He covered his eyes with his hand.

The resident came in and drew the curtain between her and Bruce. “Time to staple that closed,” she said cheerfully.

“Can we make my boss watch?” Lauren asked.

“Of course,” the woman said, smiling.

“Stop it!” Bruce ordered. “I’m very fragile.”

The doctor explained what she was about to do—clean the wound, lidocaine and staples—but Lauren was abruptly sleepy. How much blood had she lost? The staples went in without fanfare, tugging at her scalp a little.

Then Josh burst in. “Honey! Oh, my God, sweetheart, what happened?”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Hi, babe. Sorry to worry you.”

“Your wife bleeds like a Romanov,” Bruce called.

“Hi, Bruce,” Josh said. “Lauren, what happened?”

“I fainted and hit my head on a pole.”

He sat on the edge of her bed and kissed her hand. “Poor thing.” It was so good to see his face, warm with concern and love. Maybe he could lie down next to her for a cuddle and a nap.

“What about me?” Bruce asked. “I had to watch her blood spurt out of her head like a frickin’ faucet.”

“You’re also a poor thing,” Josh said.

“And heroic,” Bruce added.

“That too.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Lauren said, lowering her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Everyone knows Bruce is a baby.”

The doctor was done stapling. “I’m gonna check with my supervisor, okay?” she said. “Be right back.”