After a week in a US medical center in Syria and a torturous flight home, I’m thankful to be in a US hospital. Even if the food does suck.

According to the doctors, I’ve been extremely lucky. The bullet through my shoulder and leg didn’t affect any major organs, and although the third bullet settled low in my stomach, the medics got to me fast enough to prevent sepsis. After three invasive operations, everything has been patched up and all bullets removed.

Providing there are no further complications, they tell me I’ll make a full recovery.

David has told me that there will be a position waiting for me when I recover. I told him no thank you. I should never have taken the job in the first place. I’m ready to go home.

Everything hurts. My last operation was only yesterday. My belly has been cut open and stitched up again three times. An ugly array of stitches runs in a neat line above my left hip. More stitches hold together my left calf and shoulder.

All I can do now is sit in this hospital bed and wait to recover. At least I’m in a private room. It’s sparse and clinical, but a damned sight better than the medical base in Syria. It’s clean, there are enough resources to go around, and there’s even television and Wi-Fi.

The nurse comes in to check on me. “Hello, my darling—how are we doing today?”

I try to sit up and wince at the effort. My left arm is in a sling, but even when I bear weight on my right arm, I can feel the strain in my stomach.

“Let me get that for you.” She comes and plumps up my pillows for me. The nurse’s name is Estrella. She’s a Hispanic woman in her early forties with a perpetually sunny disposition and a willingness to pass the time chatting with her patients.

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Is there anything else you need? Your next meds are scheduled for one p.m., but I can give you more before then if you’re really suffering.”

I hold up my hand. “I think I’ll make it to one.”

She smiles. “You’re a trooper. I’ve known patients who make more fuss over a broken finger.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been victim to the occupational hazards of my career.”

“I know. We were talking about you at the nurse’s station. You’ve got your own Wikipedia page—did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Yes, I do. I check it regularly.

“Says a building collapsed on you five years ago. It’s hard to believe you went back to it after that.”

“I’ve always loved it.”

“You’ll be back to it again when you’re out if here then?”

I shake my head. “I think it’s time to hand in the towel. This close call has made me realize a few things about what’s really important.”

“There’s nothing like being shot at to get the revelations flowing.”

“I’ve got a lot of people to apologize to.”

“In my experience, people have a hard time holding grudges against those who nearly died.”

“I hope so. I really screwed up.”

Estrella pats my good shoulder warmly. “That’s why the Lord gives us second chances.”

“It’s not my first second chance.”

“Hmm. Better not screw it up this time, then!” She offers me a slightly teasing smile. “By the way, there’s a visitor for you.”

I frown in confusion. “A visitor?”

“A man with square glasses. Should I let him in?”

“Thanks.”

Estrella refills my water jug and then disappears from the room. A moment passes, and then my visitor enters.

I’m surprised by who it is but glad. “Dennis.”

Dennis smiles, lifts up an old, battered digital camera, and snaps a shot of me in my hospital gown.

“What are you doing?”

“Going for the Pulitzer. ‘Renowned photographer shot three times.’”

“Catchy headline.”

“I’m working on it.”

Dennis pulls up a chair at my side and sits down. He’s smiling like we’re friends again. I’m relieved—I could use a friend right now. “You’ve got yourself shot, huh?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I came as soon as I heard.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“I was pissed at what you did, but you’re still my friend. I wasn’t crazy enough to hope you got shot. Does it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

“You’re getting some stories to tell the grandkids, though! Survived a building falling on you and getting shot three times. That’s pretty badass.”

“I don’t feel badass. I feel like I’ve been through a blender.”

“You look like you’ve been through a blender.”

I laugh. “Thanks.”

“I hear you’re lucky to be alive.”

I nod. “It’s almost a miracle.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“Matt and I were out shooting in Damascus when we heard vehicles approaching. We both turned to see which army was coming, and while our backs were turned, soldiers came from behind.”

“I heard about Matt. I’m sorry.”

A stab of guilt pierces my stomach more painfully than the bullet. I just left him there.

“They say he died instantly.”

“What an awful way to go.”

“He had the calling, too. I know he wouldn’t have had regrets.”

“And you? Do you have regrets?”

“I should never have left.”

“Being shot changes your mind pretty quickly.”

“I knew I’d made a mistake the day I told Sophie, and again when I told you, and again when I told my dad. You were right, Dennis—I do suck people dry.”

“I’m sorry I said that. It was a bit much.”

“Sorry that you’re one of the only people to call me out on my bullshit? Don’t be. Maybe if it had been said sooner, I’d have learned not be such an ass. I might have made some better choices and not be here right now, shot to pieces and wondering where the hell I go from here.”

“Why didn’t they kill you too?”

“The vehicles we heard approaching? US soldiers. I got lucky. They got the enemy soldier to surrender. Saved my life. They got me straight to the medical center within minutes. If the timing had been any different, I wouldn’t be here.”

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

“If only Matt had been standing in front of me.”

“You can’t think like that. You were in a war zone. Everyone knows the risks.”

I still see his body lying there. “You’re right. We all knew the risks.”

Dennis rubs his knees like he doesn’t know what to say next. “What are you going to do now? Do you still have a post at The New York Times?”

“David swore he’d hold a position for me. He says he owes me one for stepping up after we lost Edward. Plus, the paper is covering the medical bills.”

“That’s good, then. You’ll be able to get straight back into it when you’re up and running again.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going back.”

“Another near-death experience was finally enough to make you want to steer clear of all these crisis zones?”

“When I was lying there after being shot, all I could think about was all the people I’d let down by going there in the first place: my dad, Sophie, you. I’m not scared of being shot again or injured—I’ve simply learned that my place is here. The people I love are here.”

“Do you think you can ever really be satisfied being a wedding photographer?”

“I was happy.” I want to shake myself when I think about it. “Being with Sophie again, I was happier than I’d been in years, but I thought that I’d never be able to get over giving up something I’d worked so hard for. Truth is, working my ass off doesn’t mean it’s worth the effort. I’m not willing to make the sacrifices it’s taking to keep my career alive. The people in my life mean more to me than the thrill I get from being in the thick of it. Christ, I’ll learn to ride a motorbike or something and get my kicks another way.”

Dennis grins widely. “I’m glad to hear it. Does this mean you’ll be coming back to Tanner Photography?”

“Would you still have me?”

“I never wanted you to go.”

“I’ll come back—on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not my assistant anymore. We’re going to be proper partners, fifty-fifty if you’d go into business with a selfish ass like me. I’ve taken you for granted, too. You’ve always been a good friend.”

“Any day.” Dennis grins contentedly. “Thank God. I suck at getting business. I need you here, man.”

“I won’t go anywhere again. I swear.”

“What are you going to do about Sophie?”

I let out a pained sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about calling her while I’m here but haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“It feels too much like I’m playing the pity card. Last time we reconnected, it was through misunderstanding, and I played it all wrong. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m trying to manipulate her again.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“Wait until I’m on my feet again, then try and win her back.”

“Do you think she’ll take you?”

“If I were her, I wouldn’t. But Sophie’s not me. She’s got a kind heart.” I feel guilty even as I picture her sweet face. “For once in my life, I’m not going to take advantage of that. I’ve taken her for granted for too long. If she takes me back again, I will worship the ground she walks on until the day I die, and if I ever feel like I’m falling short, I will fix it or walk away to give her a chance to find someone who does treat her right. I will put her first forever.”