After a painful event in his childhood, Taylor grew up hating and mistrusting doctors. His fear and anger went so deep that he wouldn’t even move aside for an ambulance stuck in traffic. But one day, life showed him how dangerous his stubbornness really was—and how close he came to losing everything.
One evening, after dinner, Taylor’s wife Polly spoke softly but seriously.
“We need to hire a nanny, darling. I can’t handle three kids, my job, and the house all at once,” she said, her voice tired but hopeful.
Taylor frowned. “A nanny? They’re so expensive, and it’s not worth it,” he replied firmly, pushing away from the dining table and heading to the living room couch.
Polly followed him, refusing to give up. “Please, Taylor. I have meetings in the afternoon, and even if the kids are a little older now, they still need attention. I can’t do it alone anymore.”
Taylor waved his hand as if brushing off her words. “No, you’re lying. But even if you’re not, taking him to the doctor won’t do any good. I’m not moving.”
He grunted, his jaw tight. In his mind, her job wasn’t even real—she was a writer working from home. He never said it aloud, but he thought she exaggerated her struggles.
“No, it’s too expensive,” he said again, shaking his head.
“We have tons of money!” Polly insisted desperately.
“Just because we have money doesn’t mean we have to spend it on unnecessary things,” Taylor said, his voice rising. “My mother raised me on her own for as long as she could, and then I handled myself because my father didn’t care. And look at me! I grew up to be a millionaire. They don’t need a nanny. Just tell them to behave after school.”
Polly sighed heavily, defeated. She walked away without another word. The children—Mark, Jason, and Mona—were between nine and five years old. Taylor convinced himself they didn’t need extra help. After all, Polly worked from home. How hard could it be?
In Taylor’s mind, children should only be raised by their parents. That’s how he had survived life. That’s how he had built himself up.
He never imagined his stubbornness would almost destroy him.
A few days later, everything changed.
Polly fainted suddenly in the middle of the living room. Their eldest, nine-year-old Mark, panicked and grabbed the phone. He called Taylor at the office.
“Dad! Should I call 911?” Mark’s voice was shaking.
“No! Absolutely not,” Taylor snapped. “Call Mara. Her number is next to the home phone. I’ll be there soon.”
Mara was their neighbor, a kind nurse who worked night shifts. Taylor didn’t trust her completely—after all, she was connected to the medical field—but at least she wasn’t a doctor.
When Taylor rushed home, Polly was conscious again, lying on the couch while Mara checked her pulse. The kids hovered around, wide-eyed with worry.
“So, how is she?” Taylor asked, forcing calm.
“Let’s speak in the kitchen,” Mara said quickly, tugging him aside. Her eyes were serious. “Taylor, Polly needs to see a doctor. Fainting like that isn’t normal.”
Taylor scoffed. “We’re hardly young. She’s 35, I’m 38. People faint.”
“Thirty-five is young, Taylor. She could have anemia. She needs blood work and a check-up,” Mara pressed.
“Nope. No. Absolutely not.” Taylor folded his arms like a shield.
Mara’s eyes narrowed. “I know you distrust doctors, but she needs one. Or it will happen again. Your kids are scared. Please, listen to me.”
Taylor’s voice dropped low. “We’ll get the blood work. But no doctors. My mother died because some incompetent idiot didn’t find her cancer. He misdiagnosed her. Because of him, I grew up with my abusive father. That’s why I don’t trust them. That’s why we had home births. And my kids are thriving.”
Mara studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Alright. Do the blood tests. I’ll have a friend check them. But Taylor, you can’t hide from this forever. Someday you’ll need to let go of this fear.”
The tests confirmed Polly had anemia. With medication, she slowly recovered. Still, she asked Taylor once more about hiring a nanny.
“Please, Taylor, I need help,” she said softly.
“No. You’re better now. A nanny is a waste. Money should only be used for real emergencies. Who knows what could happen? I might not always be the CEO of an oil company. What if I end up broke?” he said stubbornly.
Polly fell silent. She didn’t ask again.
One morning, Taylor was rushing out of the house. “I’m late for a meeting! Don’t call me because I won’t answer today!” he shouted before slamming the door.
He was meeting an important client, but on the way, traffic came to a complete stop. Minutes crawled by. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, muttering curses.
Then came the sound of sirens.
An ambulance appeared behind him. Cars slowly moved to the sides, making space. But Taylor clenched his jaw.
“Ah, hell no. They’re just pretending. I’m not falling for it,” he muttered, refusing to move.
The ambulance honked again and again. Other drivers stared at him in disbelief.
“Hey, man! Move for the ambulance!” shouted a driver from the next lane.
Taylor ignored him, staring straight ahead.
Finally, the ambulance driver—a gray-haired man—jumped out and rushed to Taylor’s window. “Sir, please move! I have a child in the back who needs urgent care!”
Taylor sneered. “You’re lying. And even if you’re not, taking him to the doctor won’t help. I’m not moving.”
The driver’s face twisted in shock. “Are you serious? This is illegal!”
“Then call the cops. Or sue me. I’m not moving,” Taylor said coldly.
The driver spat on the ground. “I hope no one you love is ever in this boy’s shoes.” He climbed back into the ambulance, swerved onto the sidewalk, and forced his way through.
Taylor smirked, thinking he had proven his point.
But he had no idea what fate had in store for him.
At the office, his meeting had just begun when his phone buzzed. Polly’s name flashed. He ignored it.
It buzzed again. Then again. Finally, a message appeared:
“Mark is in the hospital! Call me ASAP!”
Taylor’s blood turned cold. “Hospital?” he whispered.
“Mr. Brown?” his executive asked.
“Roger, take over this meeting. My son’s in the hospital. I have to go,” Taylor said, running out.
He drove as fast as he could, heart pounding. Polly hated hospitals too—she knew his rules. If she went there, it was life or death.
When he reached the emergency ward, he found Polly sitting outside the operating room with Jason and Mona clinging to her legs. Her face was streaked with tears.
“What happened? Where’s Mark?” Taylor cried.
Polly sobbed. “He’s in surgery. He hit his head. There was so much blood…”
Taylor hugged them all, whispering, “It’s okay. Everything will be alright. He’s in good hands.”
Hours later, the surgeon appeared. “The surgery went well. He’s recovering in the ICU. It’s early, but it looks promising. He’s alive because he got here in time.”
Taylor exhaled, almost collapsing. But then the doctor added, “If they had been even fifteen minutes later, the outcome could have been different. The traffic jam this morning nearly cost him.”
Taylor froze. Traffic jam?
Polly turned to him. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. The jam was awful. The driver even argued with some selfish man who refused to move! But thank God, he found a way. He drove on the sidewalk like a hero. He saved us.”
Taylor’s chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe. That “selfish man” was him.
He had almost killed his own son.