Unconscious. The word was a black hole, sucking all the air from the room. Just hours ago, he had been complaining about a headache. Now, he was fighting for his life. After a frantic call to Emma’s school, Rachel drove to pick up her daughter, her mind a chaotic mess of how to explain the unexplainable.

“Dad was hurt a little, sweetie,” she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “We’re going to go visit him.”

In the ICU, the sight of David broke them both. He lay still as stone, his head bandaged, his body a nexus of tubes and wires connected to machines that beeped and breathed for him.

“Daddy!” Emma’s cry was a raw, terrified wail. “Daddy, wake up!”

Rachel wrapped her arms around her daughter, her own tears a hot, silent stream down her face. A nurse encouraged them to talk to him, and they did, their voices small and desperate in the face of the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator.