Chapter 1 - The Call Before the Aisle
The white lace dress hung against the door frame of the bridal suite, catching the soft morning light filtering through the stained glass windows of St. Peter’s Chapel. Outside, guests were already filling the pews, their quiet chatter mingling with the soft hum of the pipe organ practicing its opening chords.
My best friend and maid of honor, Gemma, was adjusting her pastel pink dress in front of the vanity mirror, humming a light tune while touching up her lipstick.
"You look breathtaking, Claire," Gemma said, turning around with a radiant smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Andrew is going to lose his mind when he sees you walking down that aisle."
I smiled, smoothing down the satin sash around my waist. Andrew and I had been together for three years. He was an ambitious corporate executive at Vanguard Holdings, and today was supposed to be the start of our life together.
Then my phone vibrated furiously against the glass tabletop.
It wasn't a text from Andrew or a call from a caterer. It was the emergency direct line from St. Luke Memorial Hospital, where I served as the chief pediatric trauma surgeon.
I snatched the phone off the table. "Dr. Claire Vance."
"Dr. Vance, we have a Level 1 pediatric trauma incoming!" my chief resident’s voice panicked over the speaker. "Six-year-old girl, Paisley Howard. Severe blunt force abdominal trauma from a multi-car collision on Interstate 95. Internal hemorrhage, grade four liver laceration, blood pressure is dropping fast! Dr. Miller is out sick and you are the only pediatric liver specialist within fifty miles!"
My heart slammed against my ribs. "What's her current vitals?"
"Systolic is 60 and falling! She’s crashing, Claire! We need you in OR 3 in fifteen minutes or she won't survive!"
I looked in the mirror. I was wearing my custom wedding dress, my hair meticulously styled in an elaborate updo. My wedding was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes. Andrew was waiting in the holding room at the end of the hall.
"Claire, who is that?" Gemma asked, stepping forward, her hand reaching out for my arm.
"It's the hospital," I gasped, my fingers already flying to the pearls buttons on the back of my gown. "A six-year-old girl is bleeding to death in OR 3. I have to go."
"What?!" Gemma gasped, her voice shrill. "Claire, you can't leave! Your wedding is in twenty minutes! Andrew will be humiliated!"
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"A child is dying, Gemma!" I yelled, stepping out of the heavy dress and grabbing my scrub top and jeans from my garment bag. "Tell Andrew I'm sorry! Tell him to give me two hours! Three hours tops! I will be back as soon as the child is stable!"
Without waiting for Gemma's response, I yanked my hair down into a messy ponytail, shoved my feet into my sneakers, grabbed my car keys, and sprinted out the rear exit of the chapel into the pouring rain.
