For the first time since I got the call from Beck earlier, I feel a little bit of hope wash over my body.

“Yes…” I clear the emotions threatening to bubble over the top with a cough. “Yes, please. I need to see my girls.”

She smiles and asks me to follow her.  I take one more look around the room, meeting the eyes of my friends who have proven time and time again that we are just a big family.  We love together, we fight together, and most importantly, we’re there when one of us hits rock bottom with no hope of getting up again without support.

When we finally stop walking she asks me to put on a gown, a mask, and some stupid hat to cover my hair.  I don’t even question her.  Knowing that my girls are just beyond the doorway has me rushing through all of her instructions.

The second I finish scrubbing what feels like every inch of my skin, I turn to her and wait.  I try and calm my breathing, but knowing that I’m seconds away from meeting my daughters is making that next to impossible.

“Don’t be alarmed by all the wires.  They really are more intimidating than anything.  Right now, they’re doing remarkably well for being born this early.  I was just looking at their charts before I came to find you.  The doctor will go over it in more detail, but those two little girls are some strong little fighters.”

I give her a weak smile, unable to express how much that means to me right now.  Hearing that my girls have their mother’s spirit helps that little seed of hope to grow a little larger.

Right before we step into the room I stop her, asking the one question I desperately need an answer to.  “My wife, please… I need to know how she is.”

“Let’s get you in here to see your girls and I’ll go chase down her doctor for you, okay?”

I nod, take a deep breath, and get ready to see my girls.

There is nothing in this world that can prepare you for the helplessness you feel at seeing your tiny babies with tubes and wires connected all over their small bodies.  Everything about them terrifies me.  But seeing them in their plastic incubator, the machines telling me that they are very much alive, gives me a small sliver of peace.  I would give anything to be able to hold my girls, but for now I’ll settle with the small hole I’m allowed to stick my hand through to feel their skin against my own.

I listen intently when the nurses explained everything they have attached to them and their care plan.  Knowing that they have a long road ahead of them is made easier by knowing that there is a clear path to get to the finish line.

I spend the next thirty minutes in there looking at my princesses and stroking their tiny arms and hands, both just a little over three pounds of perfection, and giving my heart over to two more people.

I can’t take my eyes off them, but when I hear a throat clear behind me, I finally allow myself to step away from my girls.

“Mr. Cage.”

I look down at his lab coat. “Dr. Walsh.”  I turn to give my girls another look, bending forward and whispering softly to each of them through their incubator, “Be strong, my little warriors. Daddy loves you.”

Once we step into the hall, Dr. Walsh turns to me and doesn’t waste any time.  “If you could follow me, I’ll take you to your wife’s room, Mr. Cage.”

“She’s…she’s okay?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.  He just looks at me with his expressionless eyes. “I’m going to be honest with you, Mr. Cage.  Your wife is lucky to be alive.  She’s suffered extensive head trauma and has three broken ribs, a broken arm, and a broken leg.  There was some internal bleeding that we were able to get under control rather quickly.  Her head injury is the most important thing we’re monitoring right now.  We need to make sure we prevent the possibility of a secondary injury that could arise from here on.  Your wife was unconscious when she arrived, and at the moment, we have her placed in a medically induced coma.  We’ve discovered significant swelling of her brain as well as slight bleeding.  So, like I said, that is our main concern right now.  Our neurosurgery team will be monitoring the pressure in her brain with a bolt that was already placed and that will help guide the therapy as needed.  We’ve started her on a medication called Keppra to prevent any seizures.  I can only tell you that she’s in good hands, Mr. Cage.  We will be able to tell you more in the coming days, as the next twenty-four hours are the most critical.”

My mouth opens, but no words came out.  Trying to process all the medical vomit he just spewed all over me is taking too much energy.  I grasp on to the only thing I can—knowing she’s alive and that the rest will fall in place.  I keep picturing her beautiful face telling me that she loved me earlier today.  Or was it yesterday?