The Most Important Thing
Emilys fever came out of nowhere. In no time, the thermometer was reading 40.5, and she suddenly started convulsing. Her little body arched so violently, I froze for just a moment, unable to believe my eyes. Then I bolted to her side, hands shaking uncontrollably as panic surged through me.
Emily began to foam at the mouth, her breathing ragged and desperate, as if something invisible was strangling her from within. I fumbled frantically to open her mouthmy fingers slipping, not obeying my mindyet somehow I managed. Then, almost instantly, her body went limp, her eyes rolling back as consciousness fled. Five, maybe ten minutes passednot that anyone could truly say. Time was no longer measured by the ticking clock but by the pounding of my own heart echoing in my ears.
All I could focus on was making sure Emilys tongue didnt block her breathing, holding her head as the fits wracked her fragile frame harder than any electric shock. Nothing else matteredonly that she must breathe. Only that she must come back to me.
I screamed into the kitchen, at the blank walls, into the emptiness and up at the silent ceiling. I bellowed her name down the phone to 999 so desperately it was almost as though by sheer force, I could tether her to this world.
When I called Thomasmy hands shaking, voice thick with tearsall I could stammer out was: Emily Emily nearly died But somewhere amid my sobs, Thomas heard only one word: died.
He clutched at his chest, the terror so sharp it felt as though someone had stabbed a red-hot iron straight through his ribs. His knees buckled, and almost without a sound he slid from his chair onto the carpet, like a man whose strength, whose thoughts, whose very future, had been yanked away in one cruel instant.
People tried to lift him, to steady him, but he just collapsed further, unresponsive. Someone offered him drops, someone else water, another kindly stroked his backbut their words bounced uselessly off the stone wall of his despair, shattering like waves against a pier.
Thomas couldnt pull himself together. His hands shook violently, glass rattling painfully against his teeth, and the only noises he could utter were broken, fractured bits of sound, as though something inside him had snapped:
E ee Em ily E-Emily di d
His lips had gone white, his breathing ragged, hands foreign and stiff.
My boss, Mr. David Cunningham, wasted no time. He practically dragged Thomas under the arms to his monstrous Land Rover. The door slammed so fiercely the echo rattled right down into my bones.
Where? Where do I drive?! he demanded, shouting straight into Thomass blank, staring face, desperate to snap him out of it.
Thomas sat silently, eyes wide and unfocused, caught somewhere between nightmare and reality, not blinking for several seconds before finally rasping out in a voice torn with anguish: Childrens… City Hospital
The hospital seemed an eternity awayespecially for a man whod just heard the most dreadful word in the English language.
Mr. Cunningham floored it, weaving between lanes, red lights and green melting into useless blurs as we sped across the city. Once, at a crossroads, a black, gleaming SUV skidded out of nowhere right into our path.
We missed by mere inches. Mr. Cunningham jerked the wheel, our vehicle sliding sideways with screeching tyres and a spray of sparks from the brakes. The black SUV sped past, the air thick with the scent of burnt rubber and the realisation that fate, or worse, had just brushed against us by a hairs breadth.
Thomas barely noticed.
Tears poured silently down his cheeks as he sat hunched, pressing his fist to his mouth, fighting to keep from breaking down completely.
And suddenly a memory, as vivid as a flash of lightning, struck him.
Emily, three years old, ill with tonsillitis and burning up so fiercely the thermometer frightened even the adults. The ambulance crew gave her an injection, recommended suppositories. There stood little Emily in her rabbit-print pyjamas, red-faced and damp with tears. Id spent half an hour coaxing her. She snuffled, rubbed her eyes with tiny fists, and finally, in resignation, mumbled:
All right then just dont light it!
Thomas had nearly collapsed with laughter then. Only days before, wed taken her to the parish church, and she remembered that candles were always lit.
Mr. Cunningham spun us out onto the main roadlong and cold, lit by the citys evening lights, shining like the edge of a blade.
Then another memory came, unbidden and sharp.
A fortnight later, Emily was climbing the immense wardrobe, our little monkey. Up she went, almost to the ceiling, shrieking with pride. And thenin one awful momentthe whole wardrobe began to tip. Crash. The heavy frame smashed to the floor. I screamed, Thomas lunged, too late. The noise shook the house.
But Emily survived. Bruised, crying, shaken, and given an enormous bar of Dairy Milk to soothe her tears.
Seeing the chocolate, Emily instantly perked up, like someone had thrown a switch. She stopped crying, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and asked:
Can I have two?
Chocolate seemed to be her emergency happiness button.
Thomas always thought, if hospitals handed out chocolate, maybe wed have discovered immortality already.
Then
Evening. The house quiet. The warm light of the lamp in the corner.
I said,
Tomorrow well go to church and light a candle for your health.
And with perfect seriousness, as only a child can muster, Emily asked:
In my bum, you mean?
I covered my face to muffle my laughter, but Emily only watched us both with a look that plainly said: Well, whats so funny now?
Now, sitting in that car, that absurd little phrase cut straight to the heartbecause inside her harmless silliness was the very essence of life.
Her life.
Mr. Cunningham got Thomas to the hospital at last, pulling up with a jolt, as if afraid to linger for even a second.
Shes alive, were the first words Thomas heard. They took her straight to intensive care, and the doctors havent said a thing for hours.
They let me see her. Thomas had only waiting and prayers left
—–
It was one in the morninga time when the world seems to hold its breath, suspended in bottomless loneliness. Thomas lifted his head and his eyes sought the second-storey window behind which his little girl was fighting for her life.
Framed in the yellow light like a scene from a tragic play, I appeared. I stood there, arms by my sides, eyes meeting his straight through the glass. I didnt wave, didnt breathe, didnt even reach for my phone.
He waved desperately, as if that might chase away our terror. He rangI didnt answer. I could only stand, a shadow cast by love, frozen in place for fear that if I dared move, she might simply disappear.
And thenhis phone rang. Abrupt and chilling.
He heard only:
Come in.
And then the line went dead.
Dread clung so thickly that the very air seemed syrupy. He tried to rise; his legs wouldnt have it. It was as though the ground itself gripped him, refusing to let him go, as though not letting him inside could somehow shield him from the worst.
He knew he had to move, but fear held him fast.
Just then, the doors swung open and a nurse stepped out. Young, exhausted, her old trainers practically worn-through. She came straight to him.
He looked at her and everything inside collapsed.
That was it. The end. She was about to speak.
The nurse knelt a bit, speaking steadily, softly, like a benediction:
Shes going to make it. The crisis has passed
The world wavered.
His lips quivered, numb and awkward, no longer his own. He sat there, struggling even to whisper thank you, God, anythingjust to exhale properly. But nothing came. Only the corners of his mouth moved, his hands shaking madly, while tearshot and honeststreamed down his cheeks.
—–
Since that night, everything changed for Thomas.
He stopped caring about losing his job. Didnt worry about looking daft or muddling things.
The only thing that truly anchored him was the memory of that night: how in an instant the world can snap, how a single heartbeat can steal away the one person for whom youd shift the very earth itself.
The rest stopped mattering. It was as though that night had drawn a fine line through his lifeBefore and After. All other fears melted away, just background noise before the hush that only real fear brings.
Life has never seemed so precious.
And for myself, I learned this above all: There is nothing more important than the ones you love, for it is their laughter, their mishaps, their very presence that makes a life worth living. All else is noise.
