Jamie
The ambulance tore through the snow, siren screaming into the night.
I sat beside Celeste, refusing to let go of her hand.
The paramedic beside her was fighting to keep her alive.
So was I.
He pressed fresh gauze against the gunshot wound in her chest, his movements quick and controlled as he tried to slow the bleeding.
There was so much blood.
Too much.
I’d seen people shot before.
I’d seen men bleed out on battlefields, in alleyways, in places where help came too late.
I’d watched friends die.
I’d learned how to keep my head when everything around me descended into chaos.
But this wasn’t a battlefield.
This wasn’t some nameless casualty whose life had been reduced to a report.
This was Celeste.
My wife.
The woman I loved.
The woman carrying our child.
And for the
