*Prepare myself?* As if twenty years of military service could prepare any mother for seeing her baby broken in a hospital bed. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for what my daughter whispered when she finally opened her eyes.

“Mom, I’m sorry,” her voice was as fragile as tissue paper. **”Dad was with Aunt Serena in your bed.”**

The words didn’t make sense. My brain tried to rearrange them into something that wasn’t the complete destruction of my world.