After a traumatic event in childhood, Taylor grew to mistrust doctors so much that he wouldn’t move when an ambulance was trying to get through a traffic jam.
But he soon discovered how easily he could’ve lost everything for being so stubborn.
“We need to hire a nanny, darling. I can’t handle three kids, my job, and the house,” Taylor’s wife Polly said when they finished dinner and the kids returned to their rooms.
“A nanny? They’re so expensive, and it’s not worth it,” Taylor replied, shaking his head.
He rose from their dining table and went to the living room couch.
“Please, Taylor. I have meetings in the afternoon, and even if they’re a bit older now, the kids still need attention. I can’t do it alone anymore,” Polly begged.
Taylor grunted.
He didn’t like the idea at all. He also didn’t believe that his wife couldn’t handle everything. Her job isn’t even real, he thought, but he would never say it aloud.
“No, it’s too expensive,” he refused again.
“We have tons of money,” Polly insisted desperately.
“Just because we have money doesn’t mean we have to spend it on unnecessary things.
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,” Taylor said, his tone unyielding.
Polly sighed and left him alone. Their children’s ages ranged between nine and five years old, so they could handle themselves while their mother worked.
At least, that’s what Taylor thought. Polly was a writer and worked from home. It wasn’t as complex as going to the office, doing paperwork, meeting with clients, arranging proposals, and everything else he did.
He scoffed at the idea of a nanny.
Kids need to be raised by their parents only. That’s how I succeeded in the world, he thought to himself again, and he didn’t have a single regret about refusing his wife’s request.
A few days later, Polly fainted in the middle of the living room, and her eldest kid, Mark, called Taylor at the office. “Should I call 911?” the boy asked.
“No!
Absolutely not,” Taylor replied. “Call Mara. Her number is next to the home phone.
I’ll be there soon. Taylor added before rushing home.
Mara was their neighbor, a kind nurse who worked nights. He barely trusted her, but she was definitely better than any doctor.
By the time Taylor got home, Polly was awake, and Mara was checking her. The kids surrounded their mother, worried.
“So, how is she?” Taylor asked.
“Let’s speak in the kitchen,” Mara said briskly, almost pulling him. “I think Polly needs to see a doctor.
Fainting is not normal for a young woman.”
“We’re hardly young. She’s 35, and I’m 38.” Taylor shook his head.
“That’s young, Taylor. She could have anemia.
She needs blood work and a check-up,” Mara insisted.
“Nope. No. Absolutely not,” he refused, crossing his arms.
“Look, I know you distrust doctors for some reason, but she needs one, or it could happen again.
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