Tessa lay on the operating table. The bright, cold lights of the OR were blinding, the sharp smell of antiseptic so strong it felt like she could taste it. Her skin was as pale as the sheet covering her. Her breathing was short and rushed.

Nathan Hale was already in a sterile gown, cap, and mask. Inside his chest there was a strange feeling, like an outsider had stepped into a sacred, terrifying ritual.

“Mr. Hale, you can wait outside if that’s more comfortable,” the nurse said ...