"Will ...” My head raises, Abbi's strained eyes meeting mine. I rise from my seat in the waiting room and move toward her, ignoring the pity filled glances cast in my direction.

"Is she okay?"

Abbi shakes her head, her hand nervously tucking a few strands of hair that escaped her ponytail.

The pit of my stomach begins to swirl––down––down––down. A sharp tingling pierces through my chest and slowly spreads over my shoulders, growing heavier and sharper by the second. I stand there, trying to breathe. Trying to make sense of everything but not understanding any of the words coming out of her mouth. I watch in a state of numb fascination as everything around me disappears. My vision, spiraling into a darkened tunnel with Abbi on one end and me on the other.

" ... had to deliver ... neonatal intensive care unit ... so much blood loss ... still in surgery ...” I close my eyes, my hands coming up to grip my head, trying to hold my thoughts together by sheer will alone. Abbi continues to explain the situation, but her words come to me in broken syllables and half sentences.

A warm wetness streams down my cheeks, catching me by surprise. I reach to wipe it away and realize that I'm crying, and I'm still shaking my head. In denial ... refusing to believe that Kara could possibly die. I fall back against the wall. The concrete feels like stone fingers scraping at my spine as I slide to the floor, the cold tile seeping through my slacks, chilling me to the bone.

I try to speak but the gravel in my throat grinds up the words before they leave my mouth, and the only sound I'm able to make is a pained groan. Deeper––deeper––deeper. I sink into the darkness of my mind.

Strong hands grip my shoulders, shaking me roughly to gain my attention. My arms fall to my sides, and I open my eyes to see my sister on her knees in front of me, openly weeping, but trying to hold it together for my sake. "Will, please don't. Please don't go there again. I need you here. The babies need you here. Kara will need you here. Especially when she comes out of surgery. Please ...” Her eyes pinch with sadness as we're both taken back to a time nearly three years ago now.

I had sat on the hospital floor, much like I am now, trying to grasp how I had been talking to Sophia one minute, and the next she was gone, never to return to me.

God couldn't be this cruel. He couldn't take her away from me too. He couldn't allow me to give my heart to another, only to lose it again. No, I couldn't rationalize a world without Kara. She was pure and had a heart of gold. This couldn't be her fate. It just couldn't.

* * *

She was in surgery for over thirteen hours.

A punctured lung. Three broken ribs. A broken arm that required a steel plate to reset. Twenty-seven staples to her wrist to close the laceration that thankfully, missed the artery.

But the worst part is the bleeding on her brain from extensive head trauma. She's in a coma. And they don't know if or when she'll wake up. The police are trying to locate her next of kin, but until then, I'm taking the necessary steps to advocate for her.

It's been three days. Seventy-two hard fought hours and she's still fighting.

It's hard sitting here, not knowing what she was thinking when that monster attacked her. Not knowing if she thought I failed to protect her, just as I failed to be there for Sophia.

A long-suffering breath escapes my mouth, and I bend over, bracing my forearms against the tops of my legs, my head hanging low, and my fingers threaded through my hair, roughly massaging the knot at the base of my skull.

I don't know how we ended up here. Just when I thought things were going good ... this happens. I sit and stare at her, hoping that she'll open her eyes and give me one of her strained smiles that hides her pain but tells me she's strong enough to get through it.

As I look at her, I'm overwhelmed with all that I feel. It's an all-consuming kind of emotion ... Unconditional love. The kind of love that forgives her for all her shortcomings, because she is so much more than she gives herself credit for. She is so strong. So beautiful. And so perfectly imperfect that I'm struck stupid that I can call her mine.

She's my Kara.

The machines she's hooked up to don't make her any less beautiful. Only more vulnerable, and the need to protect her grows even stronger.

The doctors chose to place her on a ventilator to allow her body to heal without overworking itself. As a doctor, I know it's standard procedure for anyone recovering from so much trauma, but it doesn't ease the ache in my chest that permeates clear through to my bones.

Watching her chest rise and fall and knowing that a machine is doing the work for her. Knowing that she's so deep into a coma that she won't hear the words I need so desperately to tell her.

It's eating away at my soul minute by minute.

"Will?" Abbi peeks her head in around the door. "Are you ready to go up?"

The twins were placed in NICU but are breathing on their own and doing really well. I've been splitting my time between them and Kara. I haven't named them yet. I'm taking it hour by hour at this point. To try to think into the future knowing there's a possibility Kara may not be a part of it is too much for me right now. I need to stay strong, and breaking down isn't an option. And I will break down––eventually.

I stand and walk to her bedside, gently leaning down and placing a tender kiss on her forehead. "I'll be back soon, beautiful. You rest and let your body heal. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise," I whisper into her ear and kiss her on the cheek before leaving.

Abbi is waiting just outside the door and takes my hand in hers as we make our way to the elevator.

I don't know what I would do without my sister. She's been such a huge support. She doesn't falter when I'm at my worst, and she doesn't relent when I'm not giving my best. To say I'd be lost without her right now would be an understatement.

She releases my hand and reaches forward to select the fifth floor. When the doors close and the silence settles in, she doesn't press for conversation. She knows I'm in no shape to carry on about the weather or other meaningless chit chat.

"You finally took a shower. I'm sure she'll appreciate the lack of BO." She smirks.

I try to smile, but it comes off as strained, and by the look on her face, I fail miserably.

The elevator dings when we reach our floor, and the door slowly opens to reveal the NICU ward. I never thought I'd need to spend any time on this floor. I'd had to spend a few rotations through here during my residency but no extended length of time, and for that, I was thankful. This, and pediatric oncology were the two toughest departments to work in. In my opinion, anyway. Working with sick children and knowing some wouldn't make it was something I didn't have in me.

I liked diagnosing and sending my patients on to other doctors to care for. My one-on-one time with patients was short and sweet and lacked any long-term attachments. I didn't want to develop relationships with my patients. It opened the door for connections to develop––and ultimately, heartache. Because in my field, death was an ever-present mistress to the marriage we shared with patients.

The doors make a hissing sound as Abbi scans her badge to allow us entry. We're greeted by the charge nurse and go through the sanitizing routine before putting on our paper scrubs, gloves, and masks so that we may enter.

These little ones are so susceptible to infection that every precaution is taken. Children aren't allowed in the NICU, regardless if they're family. They run a tight ship in this unit, which is why their success rate is so high. It takes military-like protocols to run a department like this. But it's all in the name of providing excellent care to those under their supervision.

"They've been a little fussy this morning, but they're eating good and their pulse ox counts are holding steady at ninety-five percent. Their catheters were removed early this morning. They've already had two bowel movements and are urinating on their own within two hours of each feeding." The nurse smiles proudly. "All in all, they're doing excellent."

I smile back, more than a little relieved to hear how well they're doing.

"I have rounds to make. Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable in the feeding area. They're both due for a feeding."

Abbi can barely contain her excitement as she heads toward their beds. To be honest, I'm a little excited myself. The past two days were hectic. One of them had to have a feeding tube while the other took a bottle like a champ. Just last night, the tube was removed and a bottle administered with success.

When I reach their beds, Abbi cast me a knowing glance.

Twins. It still hasn’t sunk in that I have two beautiful babies. When going through the whole IVF process, we were told there was a possibility both transplants could take, but in my wildest dreams I hadn't actually expected it to happen. Having one transplant take is a small miracle in and of itself. But two? That's just damn lucky.

"How're my girls doing today?" I look down at my beautiful daughters, and my heart fills with so much love and pride that it seeps from every pore. Every time I look at them, I get all maudlin. It's hard to contain the emotion gripping my throat and choking the breath from my very lungs.

My beautiful daughters stare back at me. Their eyes glistening with that milky blue haze that all newborns are afflicted with. They won't clear up for several weeks, and even then, their vision won't be one hundred percent. Months from now, they'll take on their own shades of blue, green, or brown. More than likely green, since mine are hazel and Sophia's were a light green.

Abbi reaches down and takes baby number one and I take baby number two. That's what they're ID cards state. Baby girl number one, Scott. Baby girl number two, Scott. Until I name them, that's what it will remain.

They're not identical, so it's easy to tell them apart. One has lighter hair than the other and a light birthmark just above her tailbone. Her bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top one that has a distinct cupid’s bow. The one with darker hair has a little darker skin tone and a heart shaped mouth which makes her look like she's smiling even when she's not.

Both are the most the beautiful babies I've ever seen. But I'm a little partial.

Abbi and I take our precious bundles to the rocking chairs and settle in to feed them.

"I can't believe how well they're both doing." Abbi beams as she smiles down at baby one in her arms.

"Yeah, me neither." Sophia must be watching out for them. The thought makes me happy and sad at the same time. Happy to know that if it's in her power to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives, she will. Sad to know that they'll never know what a beautiful person she was. My memories will become theirs over time, but it's not the same as having her here to teach them life lessons and guide them through hard times.

At that thought, my mind instantly goes to Kara. She has to pull through this. They need her as much as I do.

Abbi and I finish feeding the babies and gently exchange the bundles in our arms so that each get equal time with me. I whisper how much I love them in their tiny ears and tell them about all the adventures that await them as they grow up.

I'll be there every step of the way to support and love them. My entire life will revolve around making sure they feel loved and cherished.

Something inside me shifts at that exact moment. Something pivotal and irrevocable. And it's then that I know exactly what I need to do.