Alana

You were chasing a would-be suicide bomber across multiple lanes of traffic, running in combat boots too big for your feet. As the runway tapered off I watched you slip and fall on loose gravel, landing hard on your stomach. 

I ran as fast as I could to get to you. Afraid to move you because of your pregnancy, I pulled you close and held you tight, yelling for my partner to call for an ambulance. He ran away to make the call and we were alone in the intersection, cars speeding by us on both sides.

"My baby . . . " you whispered between sobs. "I was just getting used to the idea of becoming a mother."

The way you slipped and fell forward on the pavement, coupled with the previous miscarriage you and Vincent had already weathered . . . I was not optimistic that this baby would survive the fall.

A part of me wondered if your marriage would survive a second miscarriage; another part wondered if I'd be willing to take your husband's place.