A childhood trauma left Taylor deeply distrustful of doctors—so much so that he once refused to move his car for an ambulance stuck in traffic. But he soon learned just how easily his stubbornness could have cost him everything.
“We need to hire a nanny, Taylor. I can’t juggle three kids, my job, and the house on my own,” Polly, his wife, said after dinner, once their children had retreated to their rooms.
“A nanny? That’s too expensive, and honestly, it’s unnecessary,” Taylor scoffed, shaking his head as he moved from the dining table to the couch.
“Please, Taylor,” Polly pleaded. “I have meetings in the afternoon, and even though the kids are a little older now, they still need attention. I can’t keep doing this alone.”
But Taylor wasn’t convinced. He didn’t believe his wife couldn’t handle everything. “We have money, but that doesn’t mean we should waste it,” he replied firmly.
“My mother raised me on her own for as long as she could, and when she couldn’t anymore, I learned to take care of myself. My father didn’t care, and look at me—I still became a millionaire. The kids don’t need a nanny. Just tell them to behave after school.”
Polly sighed and let it go. Their kids, ranging from five to nine years old, should be able to manage themselves while she worked from home—at least, that’s what Taylor thought. Polly was a writer, and to him, that wasn’t a real job. It’s not like she has to go to an office, deal with clients, and manage major business decisions like I do, he reasoned to himself.
So, as far as he was concerned, there was no need for a nanny. Parents should raise their own kids—that’s how I made it in life, he thought.
Then, just a few days later, Polly collapsed in the living room. Their eldest son, Mark, called Taylor at work. “Should I call 911?” the boy asked, panicked.
“No! Absolutely not,” Taylor shot back. “Call Mara—her number is by the home phone. I’ll be there soon.”
Mara, their neighbor, was a night-shift nurse. Taylor barely trusted her, but he preferred her over any doctor. By the time he arrived home, Polly was conscious again, with Mara checking her while the kids stood nearby, visibly worried.
“How is she?” Taylor asked.
“We should talk in the kitchen,” Mara said, leading him away. “Polly needs to see a doctor. Fainting isn’t normal, especially at her age.”
“We’re not exactly young. She’s 35, I’m 38,” Taylor dismissed.
“That’s still young, Taylor. She might have anemia or something else. She needs blood work and a check-up,” Mara insisted.
But Taylor was unyielding. “Nope. No doctors. Absolutely not.”
“Listen,” Mara pressed, “I know you have your reasons for distrusting doctors, but she needs one. Your kids are scared. Just think about it.”
Finally, Taylor relented. “Fine. We’ll get blood work. But no doctors.”
It turned out Polly did have anemia. A bit of medication, and she was back to normal.
Afterward, she tried again: “Can we get a nanny now?”
But Taylor refused. “You’re fine now. It’s a waste of money. We should only spend on what’s truly necessary.”
Polly didn’t ask again.
Then, one morning, Taylor rushed out the door, yelling back at Polly, “I have an important meeting today—don’t call me, I won’t answer!”
But fate had other plans. A massive traffic jam blocked his usual route, and minutes dragged into eternity.
Frustrated, he hit the steering wheel, waiting impatiently. Then, he heard sirens approaching from behind.
Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw cars moving aside for an ambulance.
But Taylor refused to budge. “Oh, no. They’re not skipping this traffic jam just because they’ve got sirens on.”
He stayed put.
A driver in the next lane rolled down his window. “Hey, move! It’s an ambulance!”
Taylor ignored him.
Then, the ambulance driver himself rushed to his window. “Sir, please move! I have a child in the back who needs urgent care!”
Taylor barely glanced at him. “You’re lying. Even if you’re not, doctors won’t help. I’m not moving.”
The driver stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I’m not moving.”
“This is illegal!”
“Then call the cops.”
The driver glared at him, then spat on the ground in disgust before maneuvering the ambulance onto the sidewalk, bypassing the jam.
Fifteen minutes later, traffic cleared, and Taylor finally made it to his meeting—just in time.
Then, his phone rang. Polly.
He ignored it.
Then, she called again. And again. And again.
Until a text popped up:
“Mark is in the hospital! Call me ASAP!”
Taylor’s blood ran cold.
Throwing his phone into his pocket, he turned to his executives. “Roger, take over. My son is in the hospital.”
He raced to the car and called Polly, who gave him the hospital’s name.
The drive was a blur. The moment he arrived, he rushed through the emergency entrance, frantic.
Polly and the younger kids were waiting. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Mark’s in surgery. His head was bleeding,” Polly sobbed, clutching their other children.
Taylor tried to stay calm. “He’s in good hands,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Hours later, a doctor emerged.
Everyone held their breath.
“The surgery went well. Your son is in the ICU, and we’re optimistic about his recovery,” the doctor informed them.
Polly collapsed with relief, hugging their kids.
Taylor, however, was frozen.
“Be honest, Doc. If he hadn’t made it in time…?”
The doctor sighed. “If he had gotten here much later, this might have been a different conversation.”
Taylor’s stomach twisted. Traffic jam.
Oh, God.
Later, Polly casually mentioned: “The ambulance driver even got into a fight with someone who refused to move their car. Can you believe that? Who does that?”
Taylor felt like the ground had been ripped from beneath him.
He couldn’t breathe.
That ambulance—the one he had refused to move for—had been carrying his son.
He had almost killed his own child.
That night, Taylor tracked down the ambulance driver, James, outside the hospital.
“Wait, aren’t you the guy who wouldn’t move?” James scowled.
Taylor didn’t hesitate. He pulled the man into a hug.
James pushed him away.
“I’m so sorry. That was my son in the back. I—I was so blind. Thank you for everything,” Taylor choked out.
James finally softened. “How is he?”
“He’s recovering. Thanks to you.”
James nodded. “I was just doing my job.”
Taylor asked why he was still working at his age. James explained that his wife needed hip surgery, and retirement wasn’t an option.
Without hesitation, Taylor made him an offer.
“Come work for me. As my driver. I’ll pay triple what you make now.”
James blinked. “Are you serious?”
“100%.”
James accepted.
Months later, James’ wife, Helena, got her surgery—paid for by Taylor.
Then, Taylor had another idea.
“Would Helena want to be our nanny?”
James’ face lit up. “She’d love that!”
Polly finally got the help she needed.
And Taylor?
He never ignored an ambulance again.