I pull my ear away when her phone hits the pavement. I think she's just dropped it accidentally, juggling with her keys and bags to get into the car and am not immediately alarmed. But when I listen again, I hear scrambling footsteps and my wife crying out in the distance. I start shouting her name into the phone, alternating with listening intently for signs that she's alright. But of course she's not alright. My heart is racing so fast I actually have chest pain. I cover my other ear with my hand and concentrate, squeezing my eyes shut. There is a man's voice, threatening, but too low for me to make out the words. I start calling for her again, but I know she is in trouble. With my ear still pressed to my cell, I run to the wall phone that hangs in the kitchen and dial 911. I quickly tell them that I am on my other phone with my wife and that I can hear her being attacked. Just as I finish telling the dispatcher this, I hear Abby scream. A real scream, and though it's muffled, it pierces through me and I feel fear like I have never known in my life. I hang up on the operator and sprint across the street, pounding on Chloe's door. As she opens it in her nightgown and robe, Abby's phone goes silent. We've been disconnected.

        "Oh, thank God you're home! Something's happened to Abby. She was on the phone and she screamed and...can you watch Ava? I have to go. I have to go there right now!" I gush. Her passive face darkens with concern.

        "What? Wait...go where?" she asks. I grab her hand and start pulling her. She barely gets her front door shut.

        "I have to go to Abby. She was at work." I am crying. I don't even realize it until Chloe grabs a hold of me on the front porch of my place. She has her hands on both sides of my face, forces me to stop and look at her.

        "Aiden. Breathe," she instructs calmly. I do. I take a deep breath, let it out, rub my eyes with my fingers.

        "Please," I beg. "Just stay with Ava. I have to be where she is. She needs me."

        "Be careful," she nods, and I am gone, grabbing my topsiders from the foyer, my keys from the table there. I throw the Jeep into reverse and leave Chloe on our front porch watching me go.

        Abby's office is 20 minutes away down I-95. I make it in nine. I am shaking all over and no matter how I try to calm down, I can't. My adrenaline soaked brain has me frantic. I am thankful for little traffic.

        Please.

        It's the only word in my head. Just...please.

        There are two police cars blocking the entrance to the parking garage as I screech to a halt behind them. I run to them, not even thinking to turn off the car's engine.

        "Where is she?" I demand. "My wife. Where is she? I'm the one that called you. I heard-" and then I choke up. One of the cops approaches me and touches my forearm.

        "They're working on her up there," she points behind him at the garage and I see red lights flashing on the second level. I break away and start to run.

        "Sir! You can't-" she calls, but I am able to dart around them and take the garage ramp at a dead run.

        "She's my life!" I shout, not even realizing I use that word instead of wife. They are both true.

        I round the corner to the second level and see a fire rescue truck and an ambulance in addition to another police car. On the pavement lay the form of my Abby, several paramedics swarming around her. I cry out and the only reason I know this is that the first-responders look up at me. It is completely involuntary. And mu sole focus is Abby.

        "Sir," one of the medics says, coming at me with gloved hands palms out as if to push me back. But he is not going to keep me from her.

        "My wife," I gasp, winded, pointing behind him.

        "Okay. I understand." I reach him and he firmly puts his hands on my shoulders.

        "What happened?" I wheeze, looking wildly past him to where Abby lay, motionless. I can see her blouse has been removed and then I notice something else.

        Blood.

        A lot of it.

        "Oh, my God."

        "She was stabbed. She had air in her chest so we've put in a chest tube to relieve that. Listen to me...look at me," he snaps when I try to push past him. His hands are strong and unyielding. I get the feeling that he has had to restrain people often. I stop struggling against him and look him straight in the eye.

        "Please," I moan, agonized.

        "She's lost a lot of blood. But, sir, your wife is alive. Okay? She's alive and we're taking her to St Mary's where they can get her into surgery. But I need you to calm down and let us do our job. The faster we get her there, the better her chances are. You understand?" My shoulders sag. All fight evaporates. I nod dumbly.

        "Is she awake?"

        "No. She's unconscious. But you can see her, briefly, then you need to follow us to the hospital. Okay?"

        "Yes," I agree. "Yes."

        I follow him to where they are now loading Abby onto a gurney. There is a large dressing under her left breast. It is soaked through, the red of her precious blood in stark contrast to the utter paleness of her skin. A tube is punctured into her left side. Her face is calm, lips nearly blue. There is a bruise circling her throat and another next to her mouth under the oxygen mask. I hug myself, trying to stay in control. It is nearly impossible. In the brief hesitation before they whisk her into the waiting ambulance, I reach out and touch her cold cheek.

        "I'm here, baby," I say, my voice not my own. Then they take her and I am standing bereft, adrift. I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming. It is so near the surface it is like a living thing not in my power climbing up from my lungs. Instead, I look down and my eyes rest on the wide ring of blood where Abby had lain. And I cannot imagine how on Earth she can survive with so much of it left behind.

        They take Abby to surgery immediately and I am left in the surgical waiting room drinking bad coffee and pacing. I run my hands through my hair over and over, a nervous habit Abby teases me about. At midnight she has already been in surgery for nearly two hours. I haven't called anyone because I have no idea what to say. I think it's best to wait for some sort of news. Right now all I have are unanswered questions and worries left uncalmed.

        It is times like this, times of concern, that I most need Abby's stalwart guidance. Now that she is the one causing the worry, I haven't a soul to turn to. I don't want to stress my dad, or hers, until I hear what the surgeon has to say.         

        So, I pace.

        The police have come and gone. I was blown away by frustration at how little they seemed to know. There was no video of the garage. The guard had been in another area while my wife was being assaulted. They are unable to life fingerprints off of anything from the knife to her cell to the car. The only lead is a partial shoe print left behind when the perpetrator, they assume a man, stepped in Abby's blood before fleeing.

        I had not let myself become angry yet. I can feel the rage- it pushes against the inside of my ribs and at some point it is going to positively explode. But not now. Now my focus is on Abby, the pure and complete love of my life. Laying on an operating table under the scalpel of a surgeon. Fighting for her life.

        My breath pushes out of me and I collapse into one of the chairs. I am worn and frightened. Abby could die. And I truly believe that if that happens, my heart will stop beating too.

        My cell phone vibrates against my hip and I reach in my jeans pocket to pull it out. My house number lights up the screen, the word "home" glaring at me. Home meant Abby and she was not there. I accept the call.

        "Hello."

        "Aiden, it's Chloe. I hadn't heard from you and was worried. Are you alright?"

        And it came- the whole story just tumbles out of me and I am nearly giddy with the relief of having someone to talk to. When I have told her everything, she is quiet for awhile and then I hear her sniffle, realizing she is crying. I smack myself in the forehead with the flat of my palm. I am such an ass. Chloe is Abby's friend. I could have handled this better.

        "Will she be alright?" she finally asks softly. I hang my head, leaning my elbows on my knees.

        "I don't know," I admit.

        "I wish I could be there for you."

        "Chloe, you are doing the most important thing for both of us by taking care of Ava and I'm so thankful. I promise I'll keep you posted. I'll call  you as soon as I hear anything."

        "Okay," she responds. Then, "Aiden?"

        "Yeah." My voice is gruff.

        "Everything will be alright." Her voice is soothing and more sure than I feel.

        "Thanks, Chloe. I don't know what we'd do without you."

        "I'd do anything for you, Aiden," she assures me, and hangs up.

        "Mr Dempsey," someone calls. My sleep has been fitful and dreamless but I immediately snap to and leap to my feet. I scrub my hands over my face and rearrange my hair again without thought.

        "How is she?" The surgeon is Asian and young, younger than me I think, which actually worries me a little. I glance at the clock and am stunned to see it read 7:15am. My gut sinks. It has taken too long. I cross my arms and clamp my hands under my armpits, bracing myself. The surgeon's eyes, though, are warm, brown and kind. Hopeful, I think.

        "She had lacerations to her lung, spleen, and diaphragm. We had to remove her spleen and we repaired the others. She is very, very lucky. Two inches higher, and the blade would have struck her left ventricle, any deeper and it would have nicked her aorta. As it is, I believe that after a couple more blood transfusions she will recover."

        I am speechless at first. Struck dumb. When I find my voice, all I can say is,

        "What?" He smiles and squeezes my left arm.

        "Mrs Dempsey will be with us for a few days, but I expect your wife to make a full recovery." I am so unbelievably relieved I grab him and embrace him.

        "Thank you, thank you, thank you," I breathe. I step back. "Can I see her?"

        "She'll be moved out of recovery and into ICU within the hour. I'll make sure someone comes to take you back then." He shakes my hand and leaves me.

        I feel like I've been holding my breath all night and am finally able to exhale. As I do, my emotions overwhelm me. I sit in a chair, put my face in my hands, and weep.

        I am led through three sets of double doors, one of which is controlled by a digital keypad. The nurse, short, blonde and round, takes me to the opposite side of the wide nurses' station to a quiet room in the corner. Behind a curtain lay my darling, the mother of my child, the one I desperately want to grow old with. A sound catches in my throat at the sight of her and the nurse steadies me with her hand.

        "She'll be on the respirator until she's more alert, but we expect to take the tube out later today. She can probably hear you, so let her know you're here." She sort of pushes me toward Abby, encouraging me.

        She looks bad. So fragile I'm afraid to touch her. Her color is washed away but there is an intravenous line leading from a bag of blood hung over her head to a port in her neck. She has a tube taped in place at her mouth that leads to a machine helping her to breathe. She has a catheter snaking out from under the white sheet to a bag of urine and a chest tube draining into a box where bloody fluid collects.

        Jesus.

        As if reading my fear, the nurse says from behind me,

        "It's okay, Mr Dempsey. It'll be good for her to know you're here."

        I walk to the bedside and take her hand, the one not stabbed in the back with an IV. Her skin is still cold but now that I'm touching her, I can't let go. I glance at the monitors above her bed: blood pressure, oxygen levels, pulse, respiration rate. I nod at it, concerned only for the low appearing blood pressure of 80/53.

        "Abby. It's Aiden. I'm here. You're okay." I search her face for any sort of reaction, but it is still and relaxed. The smoothness of her brow calms me some. I do not think she's in pain. I cannot stand her pain. Watching her in labor with Ava about did me in.

        I pull a chair up to the side of the bed and sit, holding her one hand in both of mine, kissing her knuckles, her wrist. I rest my gaze on her face and realize I would do anything to see her open her eyes.

        The sound of the monitors, the steady beep as it registers her every heartbeat, is soothing. I can't believe any of the last 12 hours. It is a nightmare. But she is here. She is here and she's breathing and her heart is breathing and I swear to God that at this moment, this is all I care about.

        This is what I'm thinking, my lips pressed against the pulse in her wrist, when the surgeon enters her room behind me.

        "Mr Dempsey," he greets. Without releasing Abby's hand, I look at him over my shoulder.

        "There's a lot of tubes and wires," I fret.

        "Try not to worry. Some of them will probably be gone as early as tonight. She's doing remarkably well. But there IS something I should share with you." He seems calm but I swallow down an arid throat. I absentmindedly rub the back of Abby's hand with my thumb.

        "Okay," I urge.

        "Were you aware that your wife is pregnant?" I frown, confused.

        "What?" This is a frequent response from me to him. He must think I'm an idiot.

        "We ran a routine hcg level when she came into the emergency room. And it appears that she is in early pregnancy."

        The Earth absolutely stops spinning on it's axis.

        "What?" I repeat. My eyes go wide and I look at Abby's beautiful face.

        "We haven't done an ultrasound but the numbers jive for about eight weeks." I can't believe it. Tears fill my eyes and I swipe at them. But I am smiling.

        "And the baby's okay, as far as you can tell?"

        "Truthfully, I normally wouldn't share this with you without speaking to her first, but these are extraordinary circumstances. I've ordered a transvaginal ultrasound to make sure everything's okay and I didn't want you to be alarmed. As far as we can tell, though, she's had no vaginal bleeding so that's a good sign. I take it by your smile that this is happy news." He is smiling too. I nod exuberantly.

        "You have no idea how happy this news is. Maybe she knew. She didn't tell me about our four year old until the end of her first trimester because she's miscarried before." I blow out my cheeks with an exhale. "Happy news? It's amazing news. And I have to believe that if this baby survived this, it will be in our arms in seven months." I can't help it. I actually laugh a little, get up, lean and brush Abby's hair back, kiss her forehead. "You hear that, honey? We did it. So hurry and get better so we can celebrate." Dr Singh, the surgeon and messenger of miraculous tidings, shakes my hand and excuses himself. I have never been on such an extreme roller coaster of emotion. I sit back down and laugh out loud again, then hang my head to hold back more tears.

        I had almost lost more than I ever imagined. The man that hurt her, that dared lay his hands on Abbby...he is a dead man walking.

        The ultrasound tech hands me a picture she's printed. I had left the room to give Abby some privacy. Even though she is unconscious, I just didn't feel right being there while this probe was placed in her vagina to view her uterus. It is the only way this early a pregnancy can be visualized and confirmed. Plus, to be honest with myself, I didn't want to be there if it turned out to be untrue.

        The print, like any ultrasound I've ever seen, is grainy, but in the center are two very distinct dark balloons, each with an area of gray within. I snap my head up and she is beaming at me.

        "It's a little early for a heartbeat, but I found them. Both." She winks. "Congratulations. Your twins are doing fine."

        I stare at the image again.

        "You're sure?"

        "Yes. Very sure. And they're more like six and a half weeks instead of eight." I must have looked dazed because she adds, "You're not gonna faint on me, are you?"

        "Wha...? Oh, no. No. I just--it's a miracle You don't know, but I swear to you it is." She smiles kindly, pats my arm.

        "They all are."

        After she leaves I go to see Abby, reverently place my palm on her flat belly, kiss her there.

        "I can't wait to tell you. I love you, Abigail Dempsey. I love you." I kiss her lips next to the tube there. I sit in the chair, look at the picture, hold it to my heart.

        Realizing the enormity of the gift I've been given, I promise myself, Abby, my unborn children, and God to be a man worthy of it.

        I have checked on Ava and Chloe several times over the phone by afternoon. They are fine though Ava's not quite getting that Mommy won't be home for a few days. Chloe has agreed to stay as long as I need her and I can't thank her enough. I just can't bear to leave before Abby opens her eyes. Having her wake up alone would break my heart. I tell Chloe as much as I know but I don't tell her about the pregnancy. There is no way anyone else is finding out about it before I get to tell Abby.

        When dinner time comes and she still hasn't woken, I start to feel discouraged. The nurse reassures me and reminds me that Abby has been through a terrible trauma, that her body is dealing with it and will come around when able. This same nurse brings me coffee and a boxed lunch, scolding me for not eating all day. An obstetrician has been in, not ours but a high risk doctor called in because of the possible complications from the assault and surgery. He assured me that so far the babies....BABIES...are hanging in there and things look good. I have called my dad and hers and though they both want to come I ask them not to. At least not yet. If Abby...no, WHEN Abby wakes up...if she wants her dad to come, I'll call him back. But I just figure Chloe and Ava are getting along famously and our dads are not young. I didn't see the point.

        I don't realize I have dozed off until I feel something move against the top of my head. I had pulled the chair as close as possible to the bedside and folded my arms on the edge of the mattress, my head on my arms. I am disoriented for a moment. But then I am wide awake.

        I pick up my head and there, looking back at me, are Abby's beautiful blue eyes. Tears well in spite of myself. I grasp her hand and smile.

        "Oh. There you are."

        Before I can finally bring myself to leave, Abby has been removed from the respirator but they have decided to keep her in the ICU overnight because her blood pressure still hasn't topped 90.

        "So I should stay," I say to the rounding ICU doc, holding Abby's hand standing next to her. She's groggy because they have given her a shot for her surgical pain, now rearing it's ugly head.

        "No, no. Go. See your daughter, get