My heart almost skipped a beat.
“Your husband Ethan is alive, Dr. Peterson,” the officer said gently. “But he’s in a different hospital.”
I suddenly felt a sigh of relief. Ethan was alive. Alive. But then the officer kept talking.
“There was confusion with the medical records,” he explained. “The man here had Ethan’s ID, so he was brought in under your husband’s name. Ethan… was sent elsewhere.”
My stomach twisted. “Where? Where is he?”
He exhaled. “He was severely injured and was in a medically induced coma for the first few days. The military handled the paperwork, and since they thought you were already here with him—” He stopped, watching my expression shift to horror. “No one double-checked.”
I felt like the air had been ripped from my lungs.
Ethan had been alone. Thinking I had abandoned him. Tears burned my eyes. I covered my mouth with my hand, shaking. “Where is he now?”
“He’s stable, and he’s been asking for you. We can take you to him.”
I turned back toward the hospital room, toward the man lying in that bed. He wasn’t Ethan. But he had been through hell just the same.
