“We just had her check-up,” Reb said. “I wanted to stop by. We… we wanted to say thank you.”
He handed me the card.
On the front, in crayon, was a drawing of a stick figure in scrubs with angel wings, holding a tiny bottle.
Inside, in a child’s messy handwriting, it just said, “Thank you for saving me.”
“I got that new job,” Reb said softly, as if he was afraid to say it too loud.
“At the shipyard. Full benefits. Union. They fought the insurance company for me. We got Lily’s prescription covered. A three-month supply. No questions asked.”
“Reb, that’s…” I was crying. I, the cynical ER nurse, was crying at the intake desk.
“That’s wonderful news.”
“You did that,” he said, his eyes serious.
“That night… I was at the end. I was done. I’d given up on this country, on this system, on everything. I was just… angry. But you… you saw me. You didn’t see the vest, or the beard, or the rage. You saw… me.”
He put his hand on the counter.
“I just wanted you to know. You saved two lives that night.”
I shook my head. “You saved yourselves, Reb.
You’re a good father.
You just needed someone to open the door.”
He smiled, nodded, and went to get his daughter.
I watched them walk out the door, hand in hand, into the bright afternoon.
I still have that card. It’s taped to my locker.
Sometimes, on the really bad nights, when the system seems too big, too broken, and too cruel… when I’m tired and my feet hurt and I want to quit… I go look at it.
I look at that crayon angel.
I remember that sometimes the scariest-looking people are just broken hearts trying to do the right thing.
And sometimes, all they need is someone to stop, see past the noise, and just open the damn door.
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This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment and inspirational purposes. While it may draw on real-world themes, all characters, names, and events are imagined. Any resemblance to actual people or situations is purely coincidenta
