I walk into the poorly lit doctor’s office with my heart beating out of my chest. I haven’t been this nervous for something in a very long time. I chose Dr. Moriarty, a doctor two towns over because of his credibility and the sense of privacy. If I would’ve done this at the hospital, our whole town would’ve known within five minutes. I’m not ready for that yet. I’m not ready to tell anyone this yet. 

“Please fill out this paperwork and have a seat,” the receptionist tells me. I try to keep my attention on what is in front of me, but I'm having a hard time today. I think the news is settling into me unofficially. I just need the bloodwork to be certain. I need the ultrasound to make it real. 

I fill out the papers and return them promptly. I need to do this and then get to work. I’m going to have to get my life back on track. When I called in to say I would be late this morning, my boss automatically assumed I needed the entire day off because I wasn’t ready to be back. Maybe she’s right, but I’m not at that point yet. I have to face my day one step at a time, yet I need to find a new routine for purpose. 

“He’s very lucky to be alive,” I hear an older woman across from me say to a slightly younger woman two seats over. They are talking about a child who sits on the floor in multiple casts, playing with the office toys. I watch the little boy. His attention is primarily on building a large building with spare pieces. He focuses on nothing else. 

“Yes. Yes, he is, but we owe it all to the firefighter that saved his life. He was our guardian angel.” 

My eyes instantly flick up to her face. She’s turned sideways and I can’t see her clearly. At Kameron’s funeral, there was a woman who came to show her respect, and someone had mentioned to me that Kameron helped save her son, but my mind was elsewhere. Even if it is her, I truthfully wouldn’t know what she looks like. My stomach tightens, but I practice taking in deep breaths to keep calm. 

“Firefighters are a true gift from God,” the older woman says. They sure are. Mine was the greatest gift from God. 

“Kameron was a gift from God,” the little boy says, still playing with the toys. Anxiety washes over me along with sadness. I blink, refusing to let the tears come to the surface as I look back down at him. This is not happening. Not here, not now. 

“Yes, he was,” the woman who I now assume is his mother replies. 

“Was?” the older woman asks. 

“He died on scene. After he got Adam out, a car ran through the police barricade. He was able to push Adam far enough out of the way, but the car ran right over him.” 

My insides fall and I gasp for air. Luckily, neither one of them pays me much attention. 

“He was still alive, Momma,” the little boy says. Chills take over my entire body. 

“Yes, baby, I know.” 

I wipe away my eyes before I become noticed. Kameron saved him? He’s the boy that Kameron saved? 

“He held my hand and told me it was all going to be okay.” 

My heart breaks all over again. 

“He was right,” she reassures him, giving him a simple smile. 

“No, Momma. He died because of me.” 

I can’t keep quiet anymore. 

“No, he didn’t,” I say, my nose stuffed with tears as they stream down my face. “He didn’t die because of you.” 

Both of the women turn to me and the little boy stops playing with the toys. When he doesn’t look at me, I drop to the ground and try to find his eyes. When he brings his gaze up to mine, I see the guilt he has inside of him. 

“Kameron loved saving people,” I nod my head. “He would’ve done the same thing for anyone. You are not the reason Kameron died. If anything, you are the reason his legacy lives on.” 

His eyes water and I try my hardest to smile.

“My husband would be thrilled to know you are alive and well. And to know that you are healing,” I continue as I point to his casts. “There’s no reason to be sad.” 

I hear the boy's mother sob as she suddenly realizes who I am. I look up to her and she wears a horrified expression on her face. 

“I am thrilled to know you are both alive.” 

“Mrs. Clarke?” the receptionist says, pulling me away. I find my strength to stand, but just as I do, the little boy grabs ahold of my leg and holds me tight. 

“Your husband is my hero.” 

It takes everything I have inside of me not to fall back to the ground and cry out the pain that’s sitting on my chest. How do people survive this? I’m so close to breaking. 

“He is my hero too,” I reply, placing my hand on his head. His mother jumps up and embraces me too. She doesn’t say anything to me, nor I to her, but I understand. I take my other hand and hug her tightly. There’s nothing she can say, but I feel the compassion she is delivering. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, pulling back. Adam releases my leg and looks up to me. I have to take a moment as his eyes look at me in bright emerald green. I didn’t notice that before. I blink and begin to walk away. 

Quiet is peaceful, I remind myself as all noise disappears from my focus. It’s the first time I’ve heard myself say that in a while. The hurt is still there, but the grievance is a little less. My husband saved him. He is living, breathing proof that my husband went above and beyond and never lived a day that didn’t matter. 

“Right this way,” I hear the receptionist say.

I take in a deep breath and smile. Every day matters, but today is the day that matters the most.