The Grand Vance estate stood high on the hilltop, overlooking the quiet town like a giant stone fortress. Inside the master bedroom, the air was cold and heavy with despair. Arthur Vance stood near the dark mahogany desk, holding a stack of medical records in his trembling hands. His hair was messy, his designer suit wrinkled, and his red eyes showed that he had not slept in days. His infant son, Leo, lay in a high-end crib across the room, barely moving. The house was dead quiet except for the soft, weak breathing of the tiny baby.
Arthur had spent tens of thousands of dollars bringing the top pediatricians from across the state to his home. Every single one of them had walked out of the heavy front doors shaking their heads. They told Arthur that little Leo suffered from a rare stomach condition that prevented him from digesting milk. They advised Arthur to make the baby comfortable, hinting that the child would not last through the end of the week. Arthur refused to accept that death was waiting for his newborn son, but his strength was completely gone.
Arthur Vance: There has to be something else we can try, Dr. Miller.
Dr. Miller: We have used every modern machine and every high-tech formula, Mr. Vance.
Arthur Vance: He is only three weeks old! You cannot just ask me to give up!
Dr. Miller: I am being realistic, sir. His body is refusing all nourishment.
Arthur Vance: Get out of my house then!
Arthur threw the thick folder onto the mahogany table, sending papers sliding across the dark wood floor. The doctor packed his expensive leather bag without saying another word and left the room. Downstairs, the heavy oak front door shut with a loud boom that echoed through the empty hallway. Arthur sank into a leather armchair and buried his face in his cold palms, crying silently. He was one of the wealthiest investors in the city, but all his money could not buy a single drop of milk for his dying son.
Just then, the front door bell rang softly through the mansion. Arthur did not even move at first, assuming it was another doctor coming to give him bad news. His house housekeeper, Martha, opened the door to reveal a young woman standing in a simple, faded green nursing uniform. She held a worn canvas bag over her shoulder and wore plain white sneakers. Her name was Hannah, a home-care nurse from a small community clinic downtown. She had heard about the struggling baby from a friend who worked at the city hospital.
Hannah Reed: Good afternoon, I am Nurse Hannah. Is Mr. Vance home?
Martha: He is upstairs, miss, but he is not taking any visitors right now.
Hannah Reed: I am not a visitor. I came to care for the baby.
Martha: We had five famous doctors here today, sweetie. They could not help him.
Hannah Reed: Doctors look at charts, Martha. Nurses look at babies. Please let me in.
Martha looked into Hannah's warm, soft blue eyes and saw a calm determination that she had not seen in any of the expensive doctors. She stepped aside and allowed the young nurse into the grand foyer. Hannah wiped her shoes on the mat, walked up the grand staircase, and followed the faint sound of a weeping father down the hallway. She stood at the doorway of the nursery, holding her bag tightly against her side as she observed the painful scene inside.