Chapter 1

Brock Harrison had always prided himself on his good looks, but as he looked in the mirror on his 32ndbirthday, he suddenly realized his age was starting to show. His hair was turning grey on the sides, he had very faint lines around his eyes, and even though everyone insisted that he aged so gracefully and that he just became more handsome with time, he wished he could have looked as young as he felt.

Perhaps it was because his wife, Misty, had seemed like she was frozen in time. She had just turned 30 back in the spring, but she didn't look a day over 20. His oldest daughter Molly had just turned 14 in August, and his son, Caleb, would turn 10 in January.

He shrugged it off. Enough time was spent hating the fact that he was just getting older. He knew he'd come home tonight to see Misty frosting a cake, putting more and more candles on it then he liked to admit. His daughter would be sitting at the table texting on her cell phone and his son would be waiting for a piece of cake. It was like that every year.

He didn't mind it. He loved his family more than anything, but he wasn't one to make a big deal about getting older. To him, October 18th, was just another day.

He trimmed his beard and met his wife in the bedroom. She smiled at him, the early morning sun dancing across her face. He sat beside her on the bed and smiled down at her as she softly closed her eyes and enjoyed the few moments she had to rest in bed before getting up to get the kids ready for school.

"Good morning, Beautiful," he spoke to her softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she replied, as she felt him place his hand on her stomach. "And sick."

"Well, here," he said, handing her a sleeve of saltine crackers. "Eat these and drink this ginger ale before you sit up. It should help with the morning sickness."

"I was never this sick with Molly or Caleb…" She complained, mostly to herself as she forced herself to eat a flaky, tasteless cracker, and sip the ginger ale. "You think I'm just getting old?"

"Hey, whose birthday is today? Mine." He grinned and kissed her forehead. "There is nothing old about you. Sometimes your body just reacts differently in different pregnancies. Perfectly common, I see it everyday in my patients."

She forced down another cracker and reached for the soda can. "I have to get the kids up for school."

"I'll get them up. You take your time getting out of bed, Honey," He grabbed a button up shirt from this drawer and pulled on a pair of black slacks. The hallway was cold and dark, but he was pleased to see that Molly's light was showing from under her door.

"Molly, are you up?"

"Yes, Daddy, I'm getting dressed," Her voice was tired and slightly irritated.

He turned to his son's room, which was still dark and still. He knew he had to drag this kid out of bed every morning, he got this from his mother. He opened the door to find his son with the covers over his head.

"Caleb, get up. It's time for school,"

"I don't feel well," He complained in a tired voice, wrapping himself tighter in the blanket.

"Oh, no, you're not pulling that on me today. You didn't feel well yesterday either and your mother let you stay home," Brock pulled the covers off of him. "Get up before I flip on the light."

"Where's Mommy? I don't feel well," he turned over and looked up at his father.

"She's still getting up. You know Mommy doesn't feel well in the mornings sometimes," Brock placed a hand on his forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"I think I have the measles," Caleb slowly sat up and hung his legs over the bed.

"No, you have a case of I stayed up to late last night playing video games, and now I'm tired," Brock grinned at him and messed up his already wild hair. "Get dressed, get ready and come downstairs. Don't give your mother a hard time this morning either."

Brock walked out of his son's room to find his daughter and his wife in the hallway. Misty was six months pregnant with their third child who was going to be here in just three short months. He was having another daughter, and he already had a nursery painted pink for her, decorated with Minnie Mouse stickers on the wall. He was busy on assembling a crib now, but he had been particularly busy with work and had to put that on hold for a while.

"Do you feel her kicking?" Misty smiled at her daughter and she felt for the flutter.

"Yes. Oh my God, wow! That is so cool!" Molly smiled. "What are we naming her?"

"I don't know yet," Brock said as he started down the stairs. "We can't seem to agree on anything. Molly, make sure your brother gets his butt out of bed."

"He's still not up?" Misty asked, looking towards the closed bedroom door. "I'll get him. If I know him, he's pulled the covers back over him and is back in bed."

Fifteen minutes later, Misty walks into a kitchen, a very tired, yet well dressed and well groomed boy followed behind her.

Brock looked at his son. "Here. I made you bacon, and French toast. Honey, what do you want to eat?"

"Chocolate chip pancakes, one slice of French toast and apple juice. As it has been for the past four months," Misty smiled at him and he set to work. She was lucky to have Brock as a husband. Her daughter bought her a cold glass of apple juice and her son tiredly ate his food.

Brock checked his watch and gave his wife her food. "I got to be at work by 8:30. You two be good for your Mom," he kissed them both on the head and gave his wife a brief kiss.

"Bye Daddy! Happy Birthday!" Molly called out from the kitchen table as she looked over her homework she failed to complete last night before falling asleep.

"Happy Birthday!" Caleb called out.

Misty stood up to kiss him one last time before he left. "I love you. Happy Birthday."

"I love you, too. Thanks guys! I'll see you all tonight."

It was a frozen walk from his front door to his Chevy Silverado in the drive way, and he couldn't wait to get in the car and get the heat on. It was unusually cold for fall time and he knew they were in for a harsh winter this year. After the long, yet relaxing drive to the clinic where he worked at, he got out of the warm cab of his truck and hurried inside the office building where he was greeted with the usual smiles from nurses.

He went in to his office to review his appointments for the day and the surgeries he had in the afternoon. He had one busy day ahead of him. He pulled his cell phone out and sent his wife a text message.

"I miss you and love you, My Love. Did my children make it to school safely?"

Misty was at home alone, busying herself with cleaning up the breakfast dishes after the kids had gotten on the bus. Her phone buzzed and she replied to him.

"I miss you and love you, too, Honey. And yes, they got on the bus about 20 minutes ago. Molly let me know they made it J"

Brock smiled and put his phone back in his pocket. That was one less worry on his mind and he knew his wife was safe at home, now he could focus on work. His first few appointments were a breeze and he had just sat down to enjoy his lunch when his pager beeped.

"Damn it," he stood up and ran to the E.R. where he saw a woman screaming in pain.

"We have a 7 month pregnancy, age 24. She had severe bleeding this morning. We need a prep for immediate surgery," Another surgeon informed him. Brock quickly found his way to the O.R. and watched through the window as he thoroughly scrubbed in. He hated days like this. This was the part of the job he didn't like.

He was always called on to jobs like this because he was the best surgeon in the hospital. The woman had been sedated already and he waited while the nurses slipped on his gloves and tied his apron up around his neck and his back and helped him put on his mask. She was anesthetized and Brock watched the young woman fall into a deep unconsciousness before he began. Within just a few moments, he pulled out a very bloody and limp baby and quickly set to work on trying to get him to breath.

He pushed all other thoughts of his mind. He tried not to think of his own children, or his unborn daughter, if a fate such as this would happen to her, would he be able to think clearly?

He did everything, feverishly working for almost half an hour but couldn't get a heartbeat out of the tiny baby.

"Dr. Harrison, we need to close," His superior, the chief of surgery, Dr. Elm, informed him.

"Close her up, then," Brock said, refusing the give up on the baby, but even he knew all hope was lost.

"Dr. Harrison, you need to know when you quit," Dr. Elm told him as he watched. The desperation in his eyes, the sweat on his forehead.

"Just one more time," Brock begged him, pumping the babies chest and pumping him full of air. His heart refused to beat.

"Dr. Harrison, you need to call it," Dr. Elm turned away from him and began to stitch up the mother. Brock stared down at the lifeless body on the table and then up at the clock.

"Time of death 12:43 P.M." Brock tore off his mask and his cap and threw it to the ground before exiting the E.R. Now came the part he hated. Telling the woman's husband that their baby didn't make it. He often had nightmares that he would be the one sitting in the waiting room, and a doctor would come and tell him the same thing.

He couldn't imagine the pain, he didn't want to. He tried to block out all emotions as he saw the father of the child sitting there in the chair, nervously waiting. He took one look at Brock and stood up, approaching him with a glint of hope in his eye.

Brock was taught in medical school how to remain stone faced, but his eyes said it all and the man started to cry. "I'm sorry, I did all I could, but I couldn't save him."

The man fell to his knees and started to cry.

What would be even worse than this was having to tell the mother when she woke up.