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The Long Night
Lucy stood at the kitchen counter, flipping through lesson plans, when the phone rang—unexpected. She glanced at the number, hesitated, then picked up. Probably spam. Nothing urgent.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Rosfield?”
“Yes, this is she,” Lucy said, the calm, measured tone only just starting to sink in.
“This is HQ from the fire department.” The words hit before they finished. She knew that cadence. “There’s been an incident at the Maxwell construction site. Captain Rosfield has sustained critical injuries and is being transported to Central General Hospital for emergency surgery.”
The room tipped. She caught the counter edge, bracing against it. “What… what happened? Is he—” Her voice cracked, but she forced it forward. “Is he okay?”
“He’s in critical condition, Mrs. Rosfield. They’re doing everything they can.”
“I’ll be there. I’m on my way.”
She hung up with a shaky grip. Danny had already pushed back from the table, half-risen, eyes wide.
“What happened? Is it Matt?”
Lucy grabbed her jacket from the chair. “We need to go. Now.”
The drive felt endless, though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.
She parked without thinking. As they moved through the sliding doors, her hand found Danny’s on its own. The lobby lights were harsh, too bright—flattening everything into something distant.
“My husband was sent here for surgery,” she said, getting it out in a single breath.
The woman gave her the floor. “Elevator’s down the hall.”
Lucy didn’t wait. She pulled Danny with her.
Low voices drifted through the waiting area. Lucy sat stiff against the chair, Danny close alongside. Someone from HQ had talked to her earlier—something about incident reports, coordination, maybe a liaison. She hadn’t really listened.
Time dragged. Her thoughts circled, never landing. She pressed her lips together and bit them back.
Danny broke the silence. “They know he’s tough, right?” Almost a statement—but the question hung there, fragile and raw. “Matt’s the toughest guy I know. He’s… he’s going to make it.”
Lucy made herself face him. “Yeah, Danny,” she said. “And he’s not going anywhere.”
She squeezed his hand—not too hard, just enough to keep the moment. Maybe to hold herself. Neither of them let go.
Almost two hours later, Ben walked in. His uniform was fresh, but he looked worn down—eyes dull, shoulders slumped.
“Any news?” he asked, almost hesitant.
“He’s still in surgery.” She shook her head. “They haven’t told us anything yet.”
Ben sat next to her. For a while, no one spoke. The air held too much.
“He was bad when we got him out,” he said at last, quieter than she’d ever heard him. “Really bad. But he’s in the right place…”
“Then we wait,” she said when the sentence trailed off. “And we don’t let go.”
He met her gaze, then dropped it again.
A few members of Rescue 3 sat along the far wall, out of uniform. No one said much. The room felt worn at the edges. Somewhere along the wait, Danny had fallen asleep. Ben shifted now and then, but she didn’t check on him.
At last, the doors opened.
Before she knew it, she was on her feet. The surgeon approached—scrubs creased, face marked by fatigue.
“Captain Rosfield made it through surgery,” they said, tone careful. “He’s stable for now, but it’s going to be a long road. We’ll be monitoring him closely.”
The tension let go, and she went with it—Ben held her there.
The ICU door slid open with a muted whoosh. A doctor stepped out, scanning the room before settling on them.
“Mrs. Rosfield?”
She rose fast. “Yes. Is he—how is he? Can I see him?”
“His condition is critical,” they said. “Before you see him, I need to explain what you’ll be walking into.”
Lucy gathered herself. Ben pushed off the wall but didn’t come closer, his face weary, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Your husband sustained extensive injuries,” they began. “The most immediate concern was a traumatic brain injury caused by a subdural hematoma. We performed emergency surgery to relieve pressure on his brain—it was successful—but there’s still swelling. His head is elevated to reduce intracranial pressure, and we’re tracking his neuro status hour by hour.”
She hadn’t even considered brain damage. “Will… will he recover?”
“It’s too early to tell. The surgery resolved the immediate crisis, and his vitals are stable. But we won’t know the extent of the damage until he regains consciousness.”
The doctor continued.
“He also sustained multiple chest injuries—fractured ribs, flail chest. His lung collapsed at the scene, so a needle decompression was performed on site. In the ER, we inserted a chest tube to reinflate the lung. His oxygen levels have remained stable since. We plated the ribs to support his breathing. He’s on a ventilator for now.”
She’d stopped trying to track it.
“His abdomen was severely injured in the fall. We performed a partial liver resection to repair a deep laceration and removed his right kidney, which was shattered. He lost a significant amount of blood—but was stabilized with transfusions.”
“And his spine?” It came out sharper than she intended.
“His spinal cord suffered major trauma, causing complete paralysis below the waist. We performed stabilization surgery and fitted a brace to protect the site. The paralysis may be caused by swelling—we won’t know until after decompression tomorrow. The possibility of it being permanent is very real.”
Paralysis. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it—Matt, who climbed walls like stairs, who pulled people from wreckage—unable to move. She shook her head slightly, as if the thought could be undone.
“He also sustained several orthopedic injuries. An open fracture of the right tibia, which increases infection risk. A comminuted right femur fracture. Torn ligaments in the knee. All stabilized for now—but he’ll need multiple surgeries.”
The list kept building. Each injury stacked on the last with no room to absorb the one before.
“His right arm and shoulder are also severely damaged—broken humerus, clavicle, scapula, plus torn shoulder ligaments. His wrist is shattered and currently braced. There’s also a minor fracture in the left tibia—that one’s already addressed.”
Lucy swayed—Danny caught her balance.
“I need to see him,” she said.
“We’ll allow two visitors at a time. Family only.”
She looked for Ben. He was already beside her. “He’s family.”
The ventilator hissed, steady and mechanical. A monitor beeped in slow intervals—each one marking proof of breath.
He seemed so different—pale, lifeless.
Matt was propped upright in bed, half-sitting, his face slack and swollen. A bruise shadowed his temple. One side of his head was shaved; the rest stuck damp against the scalp.
Gauze crossed his forehead, faintly blood-tinged beneath the tape. A tube fed into his mouth, connecting him to the machine that breathed in his place. She watched his chest rise and fall—precise, impersonal.
A brace locked across his torso. His right arm lay awkward at his side, the wrist held in a metal fixator. A frame pinned his right leg from thigh to shin, rods driven through the skin at rigid angles. The knee sat bulging under the wrap, joint kept straight. His left leg was bandaged and strapped; everything else read as far from temporary.
Tubes and wires ran from his body to machines that surrounded the bed—each one monitoring, maintaining, preserving.
She stood there, nothing left to react to. But he was here—still in the fight.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for his left. It was cold, the familiar warmth gone, replaced by the chill of the room. Ben was there in the corner, arms hanging at his sides. Her grip closed with more control this time.
“I’m here, Matt,” Lucy whispered as she leaned in. “I’m right here.”
She didn’t let go. All she could do was hold his hand and hope he felt it—hope he knew she’d come.
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