I have my headphones in, and I’m deep into our study session when I hear a loud banging on my front door. I slide my headphones off just in time to hear the lock turning and the door opening. “What the…” I push back from my desk and slowly venture out into the hallway.

“Natalie!” Mom yells. “Natalie!”

I meet her at the end of the hall. “Jesus, what?”

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “It’s on silent. Why?”

“Tatum fell. Alden took her to the E.R. No one has been able to get ahold of you!”

My heart races and stops all at once. I race back to my room and throw on a hoodie and my slip-on Keds, not caring one bit that I’m still dressed in Alden’s clothes.

Mom and I break every traffic law driving to the hospital. I’m a nervous wreck when we enter the emergency room, but my fears calm when I see my dad holding Tatum and Alden at the nurse’s station, demanding to know why they haven’t been seen yet.

“We’ve been here for damn near an hour. My daughter is in agony. How much longer is it going to take for her to be seen?” He’s a mixture of distraught and rabid—a true papa bear if I’ve ever seen one. I know it’s far from the right moment, but seeing him so worked up over our daughter kind of gets me hot.

I step closer to him and place my hand on the middle of his back. “I’m here.”

He spins to face me, the nurse long forgotten. As if driven by pure instinct, he draws me into his arms and holds me close. “Oh, thank God. Where were you?”

His tone isn’t accusing in the least—if anything he sounds concerned—but I still feel like crap for missing all of his many calls.

“I was doing that study session, and my phone was on silent.”

He nods, and I step up to the desk to let them know who I am. The nurse takes my information and clacks away on her keyboard. Moments later, the printer spits out an I.D. bracelet for me. She fastens it around my wrist and then Alden takes my hand, guiding me to where Dad and Tatum are. My dad glances up upon our arrival. “She’s pretty much cried herself to sleep.”

I look down at my beautiful girl, sleeping fitfully on his lap. Her left arm is swollen to twice its size at the wrist, and her skin is a mix of angry purples and blues. Tears cloud my vision. “Oh, Tater Tot.” I lower down into the seat next to my dad, and he passes her to me. She stirs and whimpers, but doesn’t wake.

Mom grabs the chair on the other side of Dad while Alden paces back and forth in front of us, yanking on the ends of his hair. “He’s taking this pretty hard,” Dad whispers to me.

My nose scrunches. “It was an accident.”

“He’s blaming himself. Also, he needs a little help on the intake form.”

My heart sinks. Accidents can happen to anyone, and I know Alden would never let anything happen to our daughter intentionally. I call his name and pat the chair next to me. He shakes his head and keeps pacing. I try again, only to get the same results.

My shoulders slump. If I’d have had my ringer on, I would have answered his first call and been able to reassure him—not to mention, I could have been here from the get-go.

Dad passes Mom the clipboard. She knows most of the info and even has a copy of Tatum’s insurance in her wallet—thank God for nurse mamas.

She glances over at Tatum a few times while jotting down answers on the form. “It’s definitely broken. Don’t need no X-ray to see that.”

He paces a few more times before finally slumping down into the seat next to me. I place my hand over his on the shared armrest, hoping the motion will give him comfort. Right as I’m about to let him know I’m not upset, Tatum’s name gets called.

Alden and I both stand and head back with the nurse. She leads us down a series of hallways before bringing us to your typical E.R. room—small and cold, with a bed, a single chair, a sink, and ceiling-mounted television that gets fuzzy reception.

Alden helps me onto the bed, where I lie with Tatum curled up beside me. He claims the chair in the corner. The nurse asks all of the standard questions and lets us know that radiology will be by soon.

The three of us wait in the cold room for about fifteen minutes before there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” Alden calls.

Two women and a man wheel in a large, portable X-ray machine. I slide out of the bed and don one of the lead aprons. They get to work positioning the machine and then they ask Alden to step out.

I seriously think he’s going to combust, but he eventually relents, looking none too pleased.

Tatum wakes up with a scream that quickly turns to heaving sobs when they begin positioning her to get the best image. I comfort her as best I can, but I kind of feel like breaking down and sobbing with her.

I glance out into the hallway, where an incredibly angry Alden is standing with his hands fisted at his sides and his eyes brimming with tears. This man looks ready to go to war for his daughter, and it makes my heart flutter in my chest.

Finally, they tell us they’ve gotten what they need and that the doctor will be in soon. Thank God. I haven’t been here nearly as long as Alden, and it’s already been too long.

Alden reenters the room and rushes to us, helping me and Tatum back into a comfortable position, murmuring words of love and comfort all the while.

Twenty minutes later, there’s another knock at the door. This time, it’s the doctor and a nurse. He introduces himself as Dr. Murphy. “The good news is it’s a clean break. The bad news is we’re going to need to cast her.”

“How long will she need to wear it?” Alden asks, not missing a beat.

“Six weeks to start, and then we’ll have her follow up with an ortho for another set of X-rays. They’ll determine then if she’ll need to wear it longer.”

The nurse speaks up. “What color would she like?”

Once again Alden beats me to the punch. “Pink.”

The nurse smiles and heads off to retrieve her supplies. She returns and asks me to sit Tatum up in my lap. She positions Tatum’s arm into a sideways ‘L’ with her inner wrist facing her stomach. Tatum is not a fan of this and loudly lets everyone know.

“Stop!” she screams, tears trailing her cheeks. “It hurts!”

Alden jumps out of his chair and moves to stand behind us. He leans over and kisses her cheek. “It’s okay, pretty girl. Remember when we talked about being superheroes? This is just going to help you get even stronger. I know it hurts now, but it’s going to get better.”

“P-promise?” she asks, sounding so small.

“I absolutely promise. But you have to sit very still and be a very brave girl. Can you do that for Daddy?”

She sniffles and nods.

The nurse begins wrapping the liner. She then wets the outer cast material and wraps it over the first layer. “It’s hot,” Tatum cries.

“I know, sweetie,” the nurse coos. “That’s the fiberglass getting hard. It’ll cool in about fifteen minutes.”

Tatum sniffles again.

The doctor goes over aftercare instructions and reminds me to make a follow-up appointment in six weeks. Alden and I both thank him and stand to leave. Tatum is still teary, but she’s no longer bawling.

The nurse leads us to a set of double doors that exit back into the lobby. “Be sure and stop by the desk to pay your co-pay. Have a nice night.”

Alden gives her a tight smile, grumbling under his breath all the while. Out in the lobby, we do as she says, and Alden whips out his wallet and pays before I can even argue.

We say goodbye to my parents and head back to my apartment.