Chapter 3

The sounds of Sarah' s rescue team faded, replaced once again by the groaning of the wreckage and the sound of my own ragged breathing. The hope she had brought was a cruel trick, a flash of light that only made the darkness deeper.

"Daddy?" Leo' s voice was barely a whisper. "Is Mommy coming?"

The question was a physical blow. "She... she's busy helping other people, buddy. But other helpers will be here soon. We just have to wait a little longer."

My own words tasted like poison.

Leo didn't respond. His small body, which had been trembling, was now frighteningly still. I put my fingers to his neck, fumbling in the dark. His pulse was weak, thready. His skin was cold and clammy.

He was going into shock.

"Leo? Leo, stay with me, son!" I jostled him gently. "Talk to me! Tell me about your favorite dinosaur!"

Silence.

"Leo!"

My terror was a primal thing, a beast clawing its way up my throat. I screamed his name over and over, my voice a shredded wreck. I beat my free hand against the debris above me until my knuckles were raw and bleeding, the pain a distant echo compared to the agony in my heart.

I don't know how much time passed. It could have been minutes or hours. In that dark, timeless space, I began to give up. I held my son's limp body and prepared for the end.

Then, new voices. A different team.

"We've got a possible survivor here! Getting a faint heat signature!"

A new wave of frantic energy coursed through me. I summoned the last of my strength.

"HERE! WE're IN HERE! MY SON IS UNCONSCIOUS!"

This time, they heard me. They worked with a desperate urgency, their movements sure and swift. Light pierced our tomb as they pulled away pieces of the wall. Cool air, fresh and clean, washed over my face.

A paramedic with kind eyes and a grim expression was the first face I saw. He shone a light into our small space.

"Sir, we're going to get you out. What's your name?"

"David Miller. My son... Leo. His leg is trapped. He's not responding."

The paramedic's eyes flicked down to where Leo was pinned. The grim line of his mouth tightened. "Okay, David. We see it. We're going to work as fast as we can."

They got me out first, my body screaming in protest as they pulled me from the wreckage. My own injuries were an afterthought. All I could see was the team working carefully to free Leo, using hydraulic tools to lift the concrete beam that had been his tormentor.

When they finally pulled him free, my heart stopped. His left leg was a mangled, unrecognizable mess. It was swollen, discolored, and horrifically still. They had him on a small stretcher in seconds, an oxygen mask over his face, an IV line already going into his tiny arm.

I stumbled after them as they rushed him to a makeshift field hospital. The chaos of the disaster zone was a blur. All I could focus on was my son.

A doctor intercepted me, guiding me toward a tent. He had the same serious look as the paramedic.

"Mr. Miller, I need to talk to you about your son."

We stood beside Leo' s cot. He was surrounded by machines, beeping and whirring. He looked so small, so fragile.

"He's suffering from severe crush syndrome," the doctor said, his voice gentle but direct. "When his leg was compressed for so long, the muscle tissue began to die. Now that he's been freed, all those toxins are flooding his system. They're causing catastrophic kidney failure."

I stared at him, the medical terms washing over me. "What does that mean? What are you going to do?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "We're doing everything we can to stabilize him, but the source of the toxins is the leg itself. The tissue is necrotic, dead. To save his life, Mr. Miller... we have to amputate."

The word hung in the air, obscene and monstrous. Amputate.

"No," I whispered. "No, there has to be another way."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said, his eyes full of genuine pity. "There isn't. If we don't do this, he will die. It's a matter of hours."

He handed me a clipboard with a consent form attached. The paper trembled in my hand.

My son. My beautiful, vibrant little boy who loved to run and climb and kick a soccer ball.

I thought of Sarah. I thought of her walking away. If she had come when I called, if she had rescued us even thirty minutes earlier, would it have made a difference? If she hadn't prioritized Mark, would Leo still have his leg?

The questions were an acid in my gut. I knew the answer. It was her fault. Her choice had led to this.

My hand shook so violently I could barely hold the pen. With a strangled sob, I signed my name, giving them permission to mutilate my son to save his life. I signed away a piece of his future, a future my wife had thrown away for a man from her past.