As I run, I look for room numbers, scanning them as fast as I can. A crew dressed in blue scrubs run past me and I follow.

I don’t have time to think or react. What I need is to be with her. I push all negative thoughts aside.

Voices yell behind me, trying to get me to stop, but I ignore them. Finding the room the staff went into it, I stop. I can’t see anything but nurses and doctors surrounding the bed.

“Push it to 300!”

“Clear!”

“Nothing. Push it to 350!”

The body in the bed jerks, and I brace myself in the doorframe, knuckles turning white from my grip. Everything around me stops. My vision is a blur.

My own breathing is labored.

I’ve watched her die one too many times already. I won’t allow that to happen now. I won’t watch her die!

“Sir! You can’t be here,” a nurse says, rushing toward me.

“No! Please! Please, she needs me! I need to be with her!” My voice cracks and I stop myself, realizing my words are from one of my own nightmares.

Oh. My. God.

This cannot be happening. I can’t be losing her. No! This is not how it’s supposed to be. We’re supposed to grow old together. Live a life together! And have this baby.

I drop to my knees.

The pain slices through me and I scream.

I feel numb for a second, then the pain cuts deep inside of me, throbbing with each word the nursing staff calls out.

“Parker?” My eyes fly open.

I whip around. Aundrea is standing behind me, next to two security guards. She’s in a white robe, clutching the fabric at her side with one hand while holding onto her IV pole with the other. Tubes are attached to her hand and snake underneath her gown.

Her face is blank and pale. She looks weak, but she’s still her.

“Aundrea?” My voice cracks. I blink a few times. Is this real? I look away from her and to the body on the bed before me. I don’t know who that is, but it’s not my wife.

I rush to her, tripping in the process. I land at her feet, clutching her legs and pulling her down to me.

The two men are saying something to me, but I don’t even hear.

“You’re okay?” I scan her up and down, searching for something to be wrong, but I don’t see it. She’s right in front of me. Alive.

“You’re alive.” A feeling of relief washes over me, followed by a wave of nausea. I think I’m going to be sick. “I thought—my God, Aundrea, I thought that was you.”

“Shh,” she says, pulling me to her.

I latch onto her robe, pulling her close so I can kiss her head, cheeks, eyes, nose, and mouth. I kiss every inch of her that I can reach.

“Aundrea, I need you back in your room. Now,” Dr. James says sternly from behind us.

“Sir, you can’t be back here!” the security guard yells.

“It’s okay. This is the patient’s husband,” Dr. James replies.

The men give me a stern look before turning away in a huff.

I wrap my arm around Aundrea, helping her back to her room and into bed.

Dr. James follows.

“What happened? Are you okay? They said they thought you were having a heart attack. My God, Aundrea, I was so worried.” I study her as I help her into bed.

“I don’t know.”

Turning to look at Dr. James, Aundrea’s hand in mine, I say, “Everything has been going well. I don’t … I don’t understand. What happened?”

“Everything is going well. It wasn’t her heart.” Dr. James says.

We both look at him. “What’s going on Dr. James?”

He addresses Aundrea. “Your EKG came back clear. The other tests were also negative. What you experienced was a panic attack. It’s common to get these mixed up because the symptoms are very similar to a heart attack. However, your family did the right thing by calling an ambulance. Especially given your state and your health.”

“She had a panic attack?” I confirm.

He nods. “Aundrea, I want to see you in my office in a week for a check-up. In the meantime, take it easy and rest. We’re going to hold you for the night, just as a precaution. You need to understand you’re at greater risk of having a heart attack due to your cardiomyopathy. Getting your heart worked up, like today, can send it into overdrive. It tries to catch up, pumping twice as fast, and that’s not good. Stress is not good for you. You need to find a way to keep yourself under control.”

Aundrea hangs on his words, nodding. A few tears slide down her cheeks.

“I’m going to change the dosage of your medication slightly, and give you a prescription for Ativan to help with the anxiety you’re having.”

I thank Dr. James and assure him we’ll schedule an appointment with him for next week.

When he leaves, I look down at my beautiful wife. The woman who means the most to me in the entire world.

“Aundrea?” She doesn’t answer me, so I say it again. I need to hear her voice. She needs to talk to me.

“Amy pa … Amy … She’s g-go-” She drops her head into her hands and cries.

I pull her into my side, holding her as tightly as I can. I rock us back and forth.

“I heard. Shh, it’s going to be okay. I promise, everything will be okay.”

“No. No! This is not okay.” She pushes out of my arms. “I hate the word okay at times like these! It’s clearly not okay!”

“Aundrea?” I reach for her, but she scoots out of my grasp. Moving around the cords connected to her, she moves to the other side of the bed. She holds her hands up to keep me away.