PART 1
I arrived at my husband’s fire station carrying balloons, a birthday cake, and a plan to embarrass him in front of his crew.
Instead, the moment I walked through the bay doors, every smile disappeared.
My husband, Tyler, had been a firefighter for nine years, so I understood that our life rarely followed a normal schedule. Dinners were interrupted, holidays moved, and birthdays sometimes happened early or late.
Tyler always claimed his birthday didn’t matter.
“It’s just another day,” he would say.
But I knew better. He preferred simple things: his favorite meal, a handwritten card, and cake from his favorite bakery.
That year, his birthday landed in the middle of a 24-hour shift, so I decided to surprise him at the station.
That morning, Tyler kissed me goodbye and said, “Don’t do anything crazy today.”
I smiled innocently.
“Why would I?”
He laughed and called, “Love you,” before leaving.
Hours later, I picked up his favorite cake, filled my car with blue, silver, and red balloons, and drove to the station.
I had surprised him there once before. His crew had teased him, put a paper crown on his head, and taken pictures he secretly kept.
I expected the same chaos.
But when I arrived, the station was strangely silent.
No television.
No jokes.
Several firefighters looked at me, then quickly looked away.
“Is Tyler around?” I asked.
Nobody answered.
Then Captain Reyes stepped out of the back office.
I had known him for years. Normally, he greeted me with a joke.
This time, he looked at the balloons, then at me.
“You don’t know yet?”
My stomach dropped.
“Know what?”
“Amanda, put the cake down.”
“No. Where is Tyler?”
Reyes stepped closer.
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
A balloon slipped from my wrist and floated toward the ceiling.
“There was an incident this morning,” he said.
My heart started pounding.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. He’s alive.”
I finally breathed.
“Then where is he?”
“He was taken to St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
