Chapter 10 - The First Sunrise
Three weeks later, the rain that had battered Chicago on the night of the crash finally cleared, giving way to a crisp, brilliant October morning.
The emergency department at St. Jude’s was just as chaotic as ever—ambulances wailing outside, residents rushing down the halls with charts, and the relentless hum of trauma medicine keeping the world turning. But as I stood by the large trauma bay window during a rare three-minute break, holding a warm cup of coffee in my hands, the weight in my chest felt entirely gone.
My phone buzzed on the counter beside me.
I glanced down at the screen. It wasn't a text from Ethan. It was a message from Chloe: “The baby is healthy. We found a place of our own near my sister’s house in Wisconsin. Thank you for telling me the truth before it was too late.”
I smiled softly, tapping a quick reply wishing her and the baby peace and safety, before locking the screen and slipping the phone into the pocket of my white lab coat.
The door to Trauma Bay 2 swung open, and the charge nurse called out, “Dr. Bennett! Multi-car pileup on the expressway inbound! We need you at the trauma console!”
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I took one final sip of my coffee, set the paper cup down on the counter, and squared my shoulders. The past month had tried to break me, but standing here in the blinding, sterile light of the ER, I knew the most important truth of all: I was a surgeon. I knew how to cut away the rot, how to stop the bleeding, and how to survive the darkest nights to see the sunrise.
I stepped through the double doors, ready for whatever walked next through the storm.
