After a painful childhood event, Taylor grew up with a deep mistrust of doctors. He carried that grudge for so long that when an ambulance tried to pass during a traffic jam, he refused to move his car.
He thought he was being smart. But soon, life showed him how close he came to losing everything because of that stubbornness.
One evening after dinner, when the kids had gone back to their rooms, Polly, Taylor’s wife, broke the silence.
“We need to hire a nanny, darling. I can’t handle three kids, my job, and the house,” she said, her voice tired but hopeful.
Taylor frowned, shaking his head. “A nanny? They’re so expensive. Not worth it.” He pushed back his chair and walked to the living room couch.
Polly followed him, her hands clasped tightly. “Please, Taylor. I have meetings in the afternoon, and even if they’re older now, the kids still need attention. I can’t do it all alone anymore.”
Taylor grunted. He didn’t believe her. Her job isn’t even real, he thought bitterly. She was just a writer who worked from home. How hard could that be? But he didn’t say it out loud.
“No. Too expensive,” he said firmly.
“We have tons of money!” Polly pressed, her eyes pleading.
Taylor stood his ground. “Just because we have money doesn’t mean we should waste it. My mother raised me on her own, and when she couldn’t anymore, I handled myself.
My father didn’t care, and still, I became a millionaire. They don’t need a nanny. Just tell them to behave after school.” His tone was like a wall—unyielding.
Polly sighed, defeated, and let it go. Their kids—Mark, Jason, and little Mona—were between five and nine years old. Taylor believed they didn’t need extra help. Kids should be raised by parents, not strangers. That’s how I succeeded, he reassured himself.
A few days later, disaster struck. Polly fainted in the middle of the living room. Mark, their eldest, panicked and grabbed the phone.
“Dad! Mom fell! Should I call 911?” the boy’s voice shook.
“No! Absolutely not,” Taylor barked. “Call Mara. Her number’s next to the phone. I’ll be home soon.” He slammed the phone down and sped out of the office.
Mara, their neighbor, was a night-shift nurse—someone Taylor trusted just a little more than doctors. By the time he rushed home, Mara was already there, checking Polly as the kids clung to her hands, their eyes wide with fear.
“How is she?” Taylor asked anxiously.
Mara looked at him seriously. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
Taylor followed.
“She needs to see a doctor. Fainting isn’t normal for a woman her age,” Mara said firmly.
“We’re hardly young. She’s thirty-five, I’m thirty-eight,” Taylor shrugged.
“That’s young, Taylor! She might have anemia. She needs blood work and a proper check-up,” Mara insisted.
“Nope. No. Absolutely not,” Taylor crossed his arms like a stubborn child.
Mara glared at him. “I know you don’t trust doctors, but your wife needs one. Your kids are terrified. Please, listen.”
Taylor’s jaw clenched. For the first time, he opened up. “My mother died because some incompetent doctor didn’t catch her cancer in time.
I grew up with my abusive father because of that mistake. That’s why we had home births. And look at our kids—they’re fine.”
Mara softened. “Alright. At least get blood work done. I’ll have a friend check it. But Taylor, you need to face this fear one day.”
The tests confirmed Polly had mild anemia. With medicine, she improved, but when she asked again for a nanny, Taylor refused.
“You’re better now. A nanny’s a waste. Money should only go to important things. I may be a CEO today, but what if I lose it all tomorrow? We have to save.”
Polly didn’t push further. She swallowed her frustration and carried on.
One morning, Taylor was rushing out. “I’m late for a meeting! Don’t call me today, I won’t answer!” he shouted, slamming the door.
But fate had plans. On his route, traffic came to a complete standstill. Minutes dragged. Taylor cursed, slamming his hands on the wheel.
Then came the sirens. An ambulance appeared behind him. Cars moved aside to clear the way—except for Taylor.
“Ah, hell no! They’re faking it just to skip traffic!” he muttered and refused to budge.
The ambulance honked, flashing its lights. Drivers shouted at him.
“Hey, move! It’s an ambulance!” a man in the next lane yelled.
Taylor ignored him.
The ambulance driver, an older man, jumped out and ran to Taylor’s car. “Sir! Please move! There’s a kid in the back who needs urgent care!”
“No. You’re lying. And even if you’re not, doctors won’t help. I’m not moving,” Taylor said coldly.
The driver stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? This is illegal!”
“Then call the cops. Or sue me,” Taylor shrugged.
The man spat on the ground. “I hope no one you love is ever in this boy’s shoes.” He climbed back, drove up on the sidewalk, and maneuvered through.
Taylor smirked, proud of himself. But his pride was about to shatter.
At the office, just as the big client started speaking, Polly’s name flashed on his phone. He ignored it. Then she called again. And again. Finally, a message popped up:
“Mark is in the hospital! Call me ASAP!”
Taylor’s blood ran cold.
“My son’s in the hospital. Roger, take over this meeting!” he blurted out and ran.
When he arrived at the hospital, Polly was outside the operating room, crying. Jason and Mona clung to her legs.
“What happened? Where’s Mark?” Taylor asked, his voice shaking.
“He’s in surgery. He fell. His head was bleeding so badly,” Polly sobbed.
Taylor wrapped his arms around them, whispering, “It’s OK… He’ll be alright… He has to be…”
After agonizing hours, a surgeon came out.
“The surgery went well. He’s stable in the ICU. But we only saved him because he got here in time,” the doctor explained. “If the ambulance had been delayed longer, things might have ended differently.”
Taylor’s knees nearly buckled. Traffic jam? Ambulance? No… It can’t be.
“Polly… were you stuck in traffic this morning?” he asked weakly.
“Yes! The driver even got out to fight some stubborn idiot who wouldn’t move. Who does that?” she scoffed. “But he was brilliant. Took the sidewalk and saved us.”
Taylor’s heart shattered. That “stubborn idiot” was him.
When his family left for snacks, Taylor sat alone, burying his face in his hands. Tears burst out. He had delayed the ambulance carrying his dying son. His stubbornness nearly killed Mark.
The next day, when Mark was stable, Taylor found the ambulance driver, James.
“Wait—you’re the guy who wouldn’t move!” James snapped, pointing at him.
Taylor didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled the man into a hug. “I’m sorry. Thank you. You saved my son. I was an idiot. I could’ve lost everything.” His voice cracked.
James sighed, patting his back. “How’s the boy?”
“He’s good. He woke up. All thanks to you.”
They spoke more, and Taylor learned James still worked at his age because his wife, Helena, needed hip surgery.
Without hesitation, Taylor offered, “Be my driver. I’ll pay triple what you earn here.”
James was stunned but accepted. Within months, he saved enough for Helena’s surgery. Later, Taylor even hired Helena as their nanny.
Polly finally had help. The kids adored James and Helena. And Taylor—once blinded by pride and trauma—finally understood.
He donated to hospitals, funded surgeries for poor children, and made sure to never again block an ambulance.
Now, every time he hears a siren, Taylor is the first to move aside.
Lesson:
A childhood trauma shouldn’t control your whole life. Helping your family and others is far more important than saving money or clinging to stubborn pride.
