Alexander stood frozen outside the OR, surgical scrubs still stained with Emma's blood, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything except stare at the closed doors where his wife was either dying or already dead.
He didn't know which.
They'd asked him to leave when Emma lost consciousness. "We need room to work," Dr. Martinez had said, her voice tight with controlled panic. "The NICU staff will take you to see Daniel. We'll update you as soon as we can."
But Alexander couldn't move toward the NICU. Couldn't go see his son—alive, crying, fighting in an incubator—while Emma's fate hung in the balance.
Caroline found him there twenty minutes later, still standing like a statue, still covered in blood.
"Alexander." Her voice broke through his shock. "Darling, you need to change. Clean up. You can't—"
