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Holding Together
Lucy sat by Matt’s bedside, her chair pulled close to the monitors that beeped in constant, clinical rhythm. The chaos outside had collapsed into this: a grid of tubing, hardware, and the man she loved lying eerily still.
Her phone buzzed beside an untouched coffee, flooded with messages she ignored. Too much to coordinate. Too many moving parts. Matt was unconscious, and everything demanded her.
When the ICU lead arrived for morning rounds, Lucy was already on her feet.
“What’s today’s priority?” She asked before they could speak. “What’s the latest on his spinal swelling? And are you running a culture for potential infection in the tibia fracture? I don’t want to wait until it’s a problem.”
“We’re managing the spinal swelling and prepping for decompression surgery this afternoon. The goal is to relieve the pressure and prevent further damage. He’s stable enough to proceed.”
“And what about the risk of infection?” The fire continued. “His tibia was an open fracture. Injuries like that get complicated.”
“He’s on broad-spectrum antibiotics as a precaution. We’ve been tracking his white cell count and running cultures regularly. So far, no signs of infection, but you’re right—it’s something we’re staying ahead of.”
“I want to be updated immediately if anything changes.”
“You will be. We’re keeping a close eye on him.”
“What about pain? He doesn’t need to feel a second of this.”
“He’s on a controlled sedation schedule. I can assure you, he won’t feel any of this.”
“Good,” she murmured. “He’s been through enough.”
“He’s in strong hands, Mrs. Rosfield. We’re doing everything we can.”
Lucy’s eyes lingered on Matt. “Make sure of it.”
Calls kept coming. She stepped into the hallway for the first. “Lucy Rosfield.”
“Mrs. Rosfield,” the FD liaison began, cautious. “The team wants to visit. Just for a few minutes.”
“Not yet. He’s not ready for that. I’ll let you know when he is.”
“Of course. Just… let us know if you need anything.”
Lucy shoved the phone into her pocket. Five minutes later, it vibrated again—Marcie, already offering to help. She paced to the end of the hall and cut the call short, then took a deep breath and scrolled through her contacts.
“I need to take the semester off,” she said as soon as it connected.
“Lucy? Is everything—”
“I’ll send you my course materials to keep the students on track.”
“Lucy—”
“Thank you.” She hung up before the protest could begin.
By mid-afternoon, her throat burned, her head throbbed, but she refused to stop. Another call, another message, another thread to catch before it unraveled. If it was for Matt, she’d carry the whole damn world.
Across the room, Danny sat with a phone to his ear. He took over the calls to Matt’s family without being asked—fielding questions, deflecting panic, giving her room to focus.
She didn’t know how badly she needed that until it was there.
Matt had only just come out of surgery, the bandages at the base of his neck fresh, edges pulled snug. Lucy tracked each adjustment the nurse made, noting every change in the readouts and in his vitals.
“Mrs. Rosfield,” they tried gently. “you should really get some rest. Maybe step out for a meal?”
“I’m fine here.”
The nurse hesitated, then backed off. “Let us know if you need anything.” Lucy shifted nearer, her fingers skimming Matt’s left hand, careful of the IV taped at his wrist.
“You’re not doing this alone,” she promised. “You hear me, Matt? I’m not going anywhere.”
When Ben showed up with a coffee she wouldn’t drink and a sandwich she wouldn’t touch, Lucy gave him a glance that barely counted as acknowledgment. He dropped into the empty chair, slower than usual.
“Have you eaten at all?”
“Not hungry.”
“Lucy, you can’t keep this up. You’re running yourself into the ground.”
“Matt doesn’t get a break from this,” she snapped. “So neither do I.”
Ben didn’t argue. The silence sat heavy between them. Matt lay motionless—pale, intubated, held in place by machinery and supports.
“He’s Matt,” he said. “If anyone can get through this, it’s him.”
Lucy let out a brittle laugh—worn, bitter. “This isn’t just a close call, Ben. This isn’t something he’s going to bounce back from in a few weeks. He’s not walking away from this.”
“I know,” he said, voice strained. “But you and I both know—he’s never backed down from a fight in his life.”
She didn’t look at Ben, only at Matt. “He’s in that bed because, for the first time, someone got hurt under his watch. And of course, it had to be him.”
“That’s who he is. Always has been.”
“Then we fight for him. All of us. Because he’d do the same for any of us.”
Muted light from the machines spilled across the walls. Alone in the room, Lucy pressed her forehead to his hand—and finally folded.
“You don’t get to disappear on me,” she said, breaking. “Not you.”
Another call flashed on the screen—she didn’t care. Nothing anyone said could change what mattered. She wasn’t leaving.
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Falling Apart