My 6-year-old granddaughter phoned me in panic just after midnight. “Mommy says the baby is coming! Help!” I asked, “Where’s daddy?” She answered, “He k!cked mommy’s tummy and left.”…..

An oxygen mask covered half her face. When she saw Harry, her eyes filled with tears. Dad, she whispered through the mask. I’m here. Harry grabbed her hand. Her fingers felt like ice. Lydia called me. The EMT working on her four looked up. Are you the father? I am. We need to get her to Boseman General immediately. Severe abdominal trauma, possible placental abruption.

The baby’s in distress. Harry nodded. He understood trauma. He’d seen enough of it on the rigs when safety protocols failed and men got careless. The difference was those were accidents. This was something else entirely. Lydia, Cassidy whispered. Harry looked around and found his granddaughter huddled on the couch, still in her princess pajamas, clutching a stuffed elephant.

Her face was stre with tears and her small hands were stained with her mother’s blood. “Come here, baby girl!” Harry scooped her up. She buried her face in his neck and held on tight. “Is mommy going to die?” she whispered. “No,” Harry said and meant it. “Mommy’s tough. She’s going to be fine.” The EMTs loaded Cassidy into the ambulance.

Harry strapped Lydia into his truck and followed the flashing lights through the dark Montana countryside. His speedometer hovering near 80 the entire way. Boseman General’s emergency entrance was a chaos of fluorescent lights and urgent voices. Harry carried Lydia through the automatic doors just as they wheeled Cassidy towards surgery.

A nurse in scrubs intercepted them. Sir, you’ll need to wait here. We’ll update you as soon as we can. I want to see the doctor, Harry said. Dr. Martinez is prepping for surgery. She’ll speak with you after. Now, Harry’s voice carried the authority of a man who’d spent decades giving orders that kept people alive.