I know he means well. But if it were him behind the wheel of that car and my mother was fighting for her life and the life of their unborn baby, he’d be feeling the same. That woman is who I love. That baby is my child. I know I’ve never met her, but I want her more than anything. I want for Angie and Faith to be in my arms—safe—and know how much I care.

I love them.

I will do anything to protect them. If I could be on that table, I would trade places in an instant. Instead, I’m out here, walking around. It should be me—not her.

Before I can answer, the doors swing open. Two doctors in blue scrubs, with sweaty faces and specks of blood on them, walk through.

My body tenses, Presley and my mother flank me. Their hands grab mine as we wait for them to speak. I’m typically the calm in the storm, but right now, my emotions are the outer walls of the funnel. I’m trying not to get swept away.

“Angelina Benson’s family?” The doctor on the right says as they walk closer.

“How is she?” I ask.

He sighs. “She’s sustained a lot of injuries. The most critical was her spleen. Luckily, we identified it quickly and were able to get the bleeding under control. She has a fractured wrist and multiple contusions along her right side from where the car crushed inward, plus a fractured rib and her nose was broken, most likely from the impact with the airbag. But we’re most concerned about the concussion. The CT shows some organ swelling, which we’re keeping an eye on.”

“The baby?” My voice shakes. “Is our baby okay?”

The doctors look at each other and shift their weight. “Unfortunately . . .”

I stop hearing his words as my heart shatters.

I’ve lost my daughter.

I fall to my knees as the world as I know it dies. I’ve lost one. I’ve lost them both.

“We delivered the baby by Cesarean. We tried, but the placenta ruptured in the accident. The baby didn’t make it.”

My mother wails, but my father holds her together.

I’m numb. My tears fall down my face as Presley wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt.”

“She—” I choke as I look up at her. “Did she . . . the baby? Suffer?”

The older doctor shakes her head. “No, the baby never drew a breath. We did our best, but we were unable to do anything.”

I nod.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the female doctor says.

Loss is too easy of a word. I didn’t lose her . . . she was taken from me. Taken from her parents before she even got to see us. She didn’t know she was wanted. She didn’t know our faces or the depths of the love we already had for her.

She didn’t know. I didn’t lose my daughter.

She was ripped from my life.

“Can I see her?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it.

The woman gives me a sad smile. “Of course.”

“Wyatt?” Presley grabs my arm. “Do you . . . I mean . . . we can . . .” She stumbles over her words.

I shake my head. “I need to do this alone.”

Another tear falls from my eyes, and I wipe it away. I have to be strong. I pull myself to my feet and turn away from my family. I hear my mama’s cries, but I need to see my little girl just this once.

We enter a small room with a rocking chair in the corner. The doctor leads me there and talks a little, but I honestly don’t know what she says. I can’t focus on anything other than the pain in my heart.

Then I think about Angie. I can’t lose her too. I won’t survive it.

A few minutes later, a nurse and another doctor enter. “Mr. Hennington,” she says softly. “We can give you some time, but I want to make sure you understand.” I try to focus. “Your daughter is very small. She was only a little over one pound. We’ll be outside if you need anything, okay?”

“Do you know anything more about Angie?”

“She’s out of surgery and in recovery. We don’t know when she’ll wake up, but I’ll come find you as soon as she’s stable enough for visitors.”

“Thank you.” I wipe another tear.

“Of course.” She squeezes my hand.

The nurse wheels in one of those plastic basin things where my daughter lies. They’ve wrapped the baby in a blanket and hand her to me.

The minute she’s in my arms, I lose it. Tears fall, and I shake with sobs. “I’m so sorry, Faith.”

I know she’s tiny and fragile, but I want to hold her close. I want to pump life into her. The grief is overwhelming. I’m her Dad. I was her Dad. This shouldn’t be how I held her for the first time. It should’ve been a happy moment that was filled with smiles and tears of joy.

Not tears of sadness.

“I’m so sorry.” I cry harder. She’s beautiful, even now. How could she not be? “I love you so much. Your mama does, too. I should’ve—” My lungs ache as I try to speak. “I should’ve protected you.” I rock back and forth with an angel in my arms. “I should’ve saved you, baby girl. This shouldn’t be how we met.”

I take her in. I study every line and angle on her tiny little body. She fits in the palm of my hand. My little girl. Gone to heaven.

While my other angel fights for her life.

I’ve failed them both.

Angie

THERE’S PRESSURE ON MY HANDS and a steady beeping behind me. The first thing that comes to my mind is pain. I’m in so much pain. My entire body feels sore and achy. But that’s nothing compared to my head. It’s throbbing, and I can feel the blood pounding against my skull.

Then I remember.

The deer.

The tumbling.

The unbelievable pain as my head slammed against the glass, the dash, the airbag.

Wyatt calling my name as the fog crept over me.

The fear.

Then the blackness.

“Wyatt,” I croak while trying to move my hand. Agony sears through my veins from the smallest movement. “Wyatt?” I try again, not sure if any sound is coming out.

I hear someone move. “Angie?” A sigh. “Baby—” Wyatt’s voice cracks, and I try to open my eyes to find him.

Our baby. I feel hollow and confused. I don’t know what’s going on. Fear fills the emptiness, and I need to know what happened. Am I okay? Is the baby okay? Is Wyatt okay?

My eyelids won’t move, so I use every ounce of strength I have to push them open. The light blinds me, but I hold them steady. “The baby?”

He moves to the side and presses a button. “Relax, okay? Are you in pain?”

I glance at my stomach, which is flat. “Where is she?”

My eyes close as the panic and pain become too much. I try to curl into myself, ball up and block out whatever truth he’s going to give me. Before I can muscle through the pain in my body, his hand is on my shoulder. “Please, don’t hurt yourself.”

I force myself to look at him again. “Is she okay?”

His brown eyes fill with tears, and his lips tremble for a second before they mash together. “I . . .” A tear falls. “They tried.”

Oh, God. My breathing accelerates as the monitor beeps louder, faster. I can’t breathe. He has to be lying. She can’t be gone.