Читать книгу The Surgeon's Meant-To-Be Bride - Amy Andrews - Страница 3

Dear Reader,

It’s nearly seven in the morning and I can’t sleep. Today is the last day of our medical team’s rotation in this war zone. One of many over the years. The team and I operated for sixteen hours straight yesterday and didn’t finish until well into the night. But I don’t mind—I thrive on the challenge. And as great as it is to leave, it won’t take me long to miss it again. I love being part of this great team of people. Sure it can be dangerous, but what we do makes a difference to so many lives.

So why am I lying here awake when I should be sleeping? It’s Harriet. My wife. I’m losing her. I can’t put my finger on it, but last night, as we were standing together side by side and she was passing me instruments, I could feel her pulling away from me. We’ve been reconciled for two months now and I thought we were past the baby stalemate. Why is it that I can fix broken bodies with my eyes shut, but can’t seem to fix the rift in my marriage?

I love Harriet. From the moment I saw her, I’ve never wanted anyone else. The year we were separated was hell. Worse than living in a war zone. Our marriage had been perfect, an extension of our operating style—flawless with a poetic symmetry. But suddenly she wanted a baby. And I didn’t. And we were at an impasse. When she came back, I thought the issue had been resolved but…maybe not.

And so now I have a day to pull her back. It’s not much time, but a lot can happen in twenty-four hours—particularly here. I simply can’t bear the thought of losing her again.

Wish me luck, dear reader. Wish me luck.

Regards,

Dr. Guillaume Remy