Poor Nurse Got a Wrong Call at 3AM—She Showed Up Anyway, and the Single Dad CEO Never Let Her Leave…
The Midnight Emergency
The rain hammered against the windows of Grace Mitchell’s small studio apartment as her phone shattered the silence at 3:00 in the morning. She jolted awake, her nurse’s instinct immediately alert despite the exhaustion that had pulled her under just 2 hours before.
She’d worked a double shift at the hospital covering for a colleague who’d called in sick. Her body ached with the kind of tiredness that settles deep into your bones. The phone continued its insistent ringing.
Grace fumbled for it in the darkness, squinting at the unfamiliar number. “Hello?” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“Please, you have to come. It’s Emma. She’s burning up and I don’t know what to do.” The voice on the other end was male, desperate, and on the edge of panic.
Grace sat up, her training taking over. “Sir, I think you may have the wrong number. Have you called your doctor?”
“You are Dr. Patterson’s service, aren’t you? She gave me this number for emergencies.” Grace’s mind cleared slightly. Dr. Sarah Patterson was a colleague at the hospital, a pediatrician.
“No, sir. I’m not Dr. Patterson’s service. I’m a nurse at Memorial Hospital, but this is my personal number.”
“You need to call—” “Please!” The word came out broken.
“Please, I can’t reach anyone else. The answering service isn’t picking up and Emma is so hot.” “And she’s only 6 years old and I’m alone and I don’t…”
He trailed off and Grace heard a child crying in the background. Something in his voice, in the raw fear of a parent facing their worst nightmare, made Grace’s decision for her. “What’s your address?”
Twenty minutes later, Grace pulled up to a beautiful Victorian home in one of the city’s more affluent neighborhoods. Rain soaked through her jacket as she hurried up the front steps, her emergency medical bag clutched in one hand.
Before she could knock, the door flew open. The man standing there looked like he’d been through a war. His dark hair was disheveled, and his light blue shirt was rumpled and partially unbuttoned.
Despite the obvious stress, Grace could see he was probably in his late 30s, handsome in a way that spoke of good genetics and better living. But right now his eyes held nothing but terror.
“Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank you for coming. I’m Nathan. Nathan Cross. Emma’s upstairs.”
Grace followed him up the elegant staircase, taking in the tasteful decor and the expensive artwork. This was clearly a home of means, but money meant nothing when your child was sick. She knew fear was the great equalizer.
In a bedroom decorated with soft purples and pinks, a little girl lay in bed. Her blonde hair was damp with sweat, and her face was flushed with fever.
A smaller child, maybe eight years old, sat in the corner. She was clutching a phone and watching with wide, frightened eyes.
Grace immediately went to the sick child’s side, pressing her hand to the girl’s forehead. “Hello, Emma. My name is Grace. I’m a nurse and I’m going to help you feel better.”
Emma’s eyes fluttered open. “My head hurts,” she whispered. “I know, sweetheart.”
Grace pulled out her thermometer. “Let’s see what’s going on, okay?” For the next several minutes, Grace worked with calm efficiency.
She checked Emma’s temperature, examining her throat and her ears. She asked questions about symptoms while Nathan hovered anxiously nearby.
The other child remained in the corner, silent but attentive. “It looks like a bad case of strep throat,” Grace said finally, turning to Nathan.
“The fever is high but not dangerously so. She needs antibiotics which means a doctor’s visit tomorrow.”
“For tonight we need to bring the fever down with fever reducer and keep her hydrated. Do you have children’s acetaminophen or ibuprofen?”
“I… I think so. In the bathroom cabinet, maybe.” Nathan looked lost.
“I’ll find it,” the girl in the corner said quietly, standing up. She looked at Grace with eyes that were far too serious for her age. “I’m Olivia, Emma’s sister.”
“Thank you, Olivia,” Grace said warmly. “That would be very helpful.” As Olivia disappeared, Grace turned back to Nathan. “Has she been sick like this before?”
“No. I mean, normal kids’ stuff, but nothing that seemed this bad.” Nathan ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I’m not handling this well.”
“Their mother… we’re divorced. She usually manages the medical stuff when she has them, but this is my week and I panicked.”
“It’s okay to panic when your child is sick,” Grace said gently. “That’s what makes you a good parent.”
Olivia returned with the medicine and Grace carefully measured out the correct dose. After Emma had taken it and Grace had gotten her to drink some water, the little girl’s eyes began to drift closed again.
