Michael Co had always believed he was prepared for anything.
Years of medical training had carved discipline into his bones. Residency taught him exhaustion. Surgery taught him precision. Leadership taught him how to compartmentalize fear and act anyway.
But standing in front of his closet at six in the morning, staring at his neatly pressed hospital coat, Michael realized something terrifying.
This was the hardest departure of his life.
Behind him, the condo was quiet—too quiet. The twins had finally fallen asleep after a restless night, their tiny breaths rising and falling in fragile harmony. Marnie lay on the bed, curled slightly on her side, one arm still draped protectively over the empty space where one of the babies had slept earlier.
Michael turned slowly, his chest tight.
F
