Those four words hung in the chilly air of the engine bay, heavy and suffocating. “You don’t know yet?”
My fingers tightened around the cardboard base of the birthday cake until the edges bent. Just moments ago, I had been Amanda, the proud wife walking into Station 4 with bright balloons and a sweet surprise for my husband of seven years. Tyler had spent nine dedicated years as a firefighter here, braving burning structures and late-night emergency calls, always returning home with a tired smile and the faint scent of smoke clinging to his turnouts. But standing there under the harsh fluorescent lights of the station, watching Captain Reyes step toward me with dark eyes and a grim line for a mouth, my heart sank into a dark, terrifying abyss. 
“Don’t know what?” I managed to whisper, my voice trembling so violently that the ribbons on the colorful balloons shook. I looked past the Captain’s broad shoulders toward the empty bay stalls. The massive red ladder truck was missing, but the silence inside the station was even louder than an engine’s roar. The crew—guys I had shared cookouts with, men who usually joked and shouted the moment I walked through the bay doors—stood frozen by the kitchen island, staring at the floorboards.
Captain Reyes reached out, gently taking the box of cake from my hands and setting it on a nearby workbench. He didn’t say a word about the balloons floating uselessly against the concrete wall. Instead, he placed a warm, heavy hand on my shoulder and guided me into his private office, shutting the door behind us to block out the prying eyes of the rest of the crew. 
“Amanda, sit down,” he said softly, pointing to the leather armchair. His voice lacked its usual commanding authority; it was laced with deep sorrow and hesitation.
I remained standing, every muscle in my body coiled tight with panic. “Where is Tyler? Captain Reyes, please tell me what happened. Was there a fire? Was there an accident on the highway?” My mind immediately conjured horrifying images of twisted metal and flashing red lights.
“There was an emergency call about two hours ago,” Reyes began, taking a deep breath as he rested his hands on his desk. “A residential structure fire on the north side of town. The call came in right around the time you were probably driving over here.”
He paused, searching my eyes to see if I was holding up. The silence in the room was deafening. Every second felt like an eternity. I was expecting the worst—news of an injury, an ambulance trip, a hospital waiting room. But the truth that Captain Reyes was about to reveal was something entirely different, something that would dismantle my understanding of the life I had built with Tyler over the past nine years.
“Tyler didn’t respond to the call, Amanda,” Reyes continued, his tone unusually grave. “Because Tyler isn’t on shift today.”
I blinked, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean he isn’t on shift? He left the house at five-thirty this morning in his uniform! He told me he was covering a twenty-four-hour shift for Miller because Miller’s kid was sick!”
Captain Reyes closed his eyes for a brief moment and shook his head slowly. “Miller worked the night shift, Amanda. He left at seven this morning. Tyler traded off his shift last week. He hasn’t been on the schedule for today at all. I thought… when I saw you walk in here with a cake and balloons, I assumed he had called you from the department’s off-site training facility or that you two had worked out a change of plans.”
My breathing stopped. The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Tyler had put on his navy blue department shirt, laced up his boots, kissed my cheek, and grabbed his travel mug just like he did every single shift morning. He had specifically reminded me that he would be unreachable for most of the day because of intense training drills at the station.
“If he’s not here… and he’s not on duty… where is he?” my voice cracked.
Captain Reyes hesitated, looking genuinely conflicted. He walked around his desk, picked up a small slip of paper, and looked down at it. “About an hour ago, while the team was out responding to the north side fire, a personal package arrived at the front desk for Tyler. It was marked urgent from a local medical center. Since he wasn’t here, Chief signed for it. Shortly after, Tyler’s personal truck was spotted parked outside the St. Jude Regional Medical Annex downtown.” 
“St. Jude?” My stomach churned. “Is he sick? Is someone hurt?”…
