Chapter 3

The next morning the call came in from Seattle. It was the program director, speaking fast. "Dr. Reed, we've reviewed your résumé and those emergency cases from the airport trauma center. We have a joint application document for an interstate pediatric organ transport program, and we need you to fill in the medical procedures section."

I gripped the phone, my heartbeat slowly picking up. I'd sent in my résumé three times before this Seattle program came through. He soon emailed me the document, and the contents were detailed: in-flight monitoring of critical pediatric patients, boarding procedures for the medical team, diversion medical corridors, cabin equipment securing standards. The last section required an international captain to confirm the flight procedure risks. It wasn't that I couldn't write it; program protocol required a captain-level opinion.

Looking at the document, my first instinct was still to think of Ethan. It was laughable. When you've depended on someone too long, even after you've decided to leave, your body still falls back on the old habits first.

I picked out two pages of procedures, put them together, and sent them to him. When he got home that evening, I carried a glass of water into the study. He was reading a training briefing, the computer screen dense with route data. I stood in the doorway. "Did you get that document?" He didn't look up. "Got it."

"It's due before nine tomorrow morning. Can you confirm the flight procedures part for me tonight?"

His fingers paused. "Is it urgent?"

"Very," I said. "It decides whether I get into that Seattle program."

He finally looked up at me. "You're really going to Seattle?"

"Yes."

"Air medical transport isn't ordinary emergency work." His tone was flat. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Which is why I need this application document."

He was quiet for a few seconds. "Leave it on the desk. I'll deal with it once I finish the training briefing."

"Thanks." I set the printout by his hand and turned to leave.

In that moment I still held on to a little hope, hope that this time he'd read it, hope that at least when I truly needed him, he wouldn't put me last again.

Time crept by. At one in the morning I sat on the living room couch, the study door still closed. I got up to knock, and the door opened from the inside. Ethan was in a jacket, car keys in hand, his face grim.

"You're going out?"

"Claire ran into a problem on her simulator eval. A judgment error on the emergency descent procedure. The examiner wants her to submit a full debrief report, so I have to go to the training center."

I stood in the doorway. "What about my document?"

He frowned. "Emma, now's not the time for this."

"It's due at nine tomorrow morning."

"You can get someone else to confirm that project of yours."

"I came to you because the project requires a captain's opinion."

"If Claire doesn't pass this time, her promotion gets pushed back a year." There was clear impatience in his voice now. "You should know what that means for a first officer."

It struck me as absurd. "And do you know what this project means?"

Ethan looked at me. I said, "Pediatric organ transport, in-flight monitoring of critical children, diversion medical corridors. It could decide whether a child lands alive."

He was silent for an instant, very brief. Then he said, "However important your project is, it won't make a plane fall out of the sky."

When those words landed, I heard something inside me snap for good. Very quietly.

"So to you, Claire's promotion is more urgent than a child's life?"

"Don't twist my words." Ethan's voice went cold. "What I'm dealing with right now is flight training risk."

"What I'm dealing with is a risk too."

"Emma." He said my name, his tone like a warning. "Don't start an emotional confrontation right as I'm heading out."

I didn't step aside. He looked at me, the last of his patience finally spent. "I'll look at it when I get back. If you still need it."

With that he walked past me, his shoulder bumping mine, not hard, but I stepped back half a pace. The door closed. The apartment went quiet again.

I stood where I was for a long time, then went into the study. The computer was still on, his email still logged in. My document sat quietly in the inbox, status: unread. At the top of the sent folder was an email sent one minute ago. Recipient: Claire Bennett. Subject: Simulator Error Debrief Template and Defense Key Points.

I stared at that line.

So he hadn't been holed up in the study into the small hours reading a training briefing. He'd been writing Claire's remedial materials.

I closed the page and didn't call him again. I went back to the bedroom, dug out an aviation medicine textbook, and reached out to a retired flight surgeon. After hearing me out, he only said one thing. "Send the document over. I'll go through it with you."

From two in the morning to seven, I sat at the desk checking the procedures line by line, revising the risk statements sentence by sentence. As the sky began to lighten, I typed the last period. Less than half an hour after I sent it, Seattle replied. "Dr. Reed, the document is approved. We formally invite you to start next week."

I looked at that email and smiled. So I could do it without Ethan after all.

I shut the laptop, walked to the closet, dragged out the black suitcase, and unzipped it.