The Most Important Thing
Sophies temperature soared suddenly. The thermometer showed 40.5, and almost at once the convulsions started. Her little body arched so violently that Emma froze for a split second, refusing to believe what she saw, then rushed to her daughters side, barely keeping her hands from shaking.
Sophie began to choke as foam formed in her mouth, her breathing ragged, as if something inside her was squeezing the life from her. Emma struggled to open her mouthher fingers trembled and slipped, but eventually, she managed. The girl went limp in her arms, slipping into unconsciousness. Five or ten minutes passedno one could have said for certain. Time was measured only by the frantic thudding in Emmas chest, resounding like drumbeats in her temples.
She kept watch to ensure Sophies tongue didnt block her airway, holding her daughters head through the convulsions, each spasm worse than any electric shock.
Emma noticed nothing except one thing: Sophie had to breathe again. Sophie had to come back. She screamedat the kitchen, at the walls, at the empty air, at the sky above. She screamed Sophies name into the phone to emergency services, so desperately it felt as if her voice alone was keeping her child alive.
When she rang Adam, Emma sobbed and hiccupped, managing only to choke out:
Sophie Sophie almost died
But what Adam heard on the other end was differenta short, terrible word: died.
He clutched his chest as if stabbed by a red-hot knife, the pain so blinding he folded in on himself, slowly sliding to the floor from a chair as though all strength, hope, and thought had drained from him.
People tried to help him up, supported him by his elbows; someone brought smelling salts, someone else a glass of water. Hands patted his back, kind words floated around him, but their comfort shattered against his despair like waves smashing to bits against stone.
Adam couldnt pull himself together. His hands trembled uncontrollably, the glass rattling against his teeth. Instead of speech, only broken noises escaped his throat, like a machine coming apart:
S-s… s-s… Sophie… d-d-died…
His lips turned white, breathing came in erratic gasps, his hands alien and numb.
The boss, Mr. Richard Campbell, didnt hesitate. He hoisted Adam up by the arms and practically dragged him into his massive Range Rover. The door slammed with such force it echoed through Adams body.
Where? Where are we going?! he shouted into Adams face, trying to cut through his panic.
Adam sat as if blinded, eyes wide and unseeing. For a few seconds, he didnt even blink, trapped between reality and nightmare.
The childrens hospitalthe city one Adam finally gasped, each word feeling ripped from his throat by terror and pain.
The hospital was farfar too far for someone whod just heard the worst word imaginable.
Richard Campbell stamped on the accelerator. The Range Rover shot across lanes, the traffic lights bleeding together into meaningless streaks. Red, greenwho cared?
At one crossroads, they veered so sharply a gleaming black SUV seemed to appear from nowhere right beside them. Bare inches saved them from a crash. Richard wrestled the steering wheel, sending their car into a sideways slide; tyres squealed, sparks flew from the brakes.
The other SUV sped past, leaving only the tang of burnt rubber and the sense that death itself had just swept by, grazing them with icy fingers.
Adam noticed none of this. He sat hunched over, pressing his fist to his mouth, trying not to break down completely. Tears streamed down his face, unstoppable.
And then, suddenlya flash of memory. As if someone had flicked on a film reel inside his mind.
Sophie was three. Shed had tonsillitis so badly that even adults shuddered at her feverish temperature. Paramedics gave her an injection and recommended suppositories.
Little Sophie, standing in her bunny-print pyjamas, was burning with fever and slick with tears. Emma tried for half an hour to persuade her, while Sophie sobbed, rubbing her eyes, until she finally gave in, sighing:
All right, go ahead just dont light it!
Adam had nearly collapsed laughing. A few days earlier, theyd gone to church, and Sophie remembered the candles being lit there.
Richard swung the car onto the high streetendless, aglow with evening lights, as cold and sharp as a blade.
And then, another blow from memory.
A few weeks later, Sophie was clambering up the giant wardrobea little monkey, endlessly nimble and mischievous. She had almost reached the ceiling, squealing with pride. Then the wardrobe began to tilt, ever so slowly. Crash. The heavy thing fellEmma screamed, Adam leapt, but he was too late. The crash split the house open.
Amazingly, Sophie was fine. Bruises, tears, a scareand a huge bar of chocolate, their peace offering for her sobs.
Seeing the chocolate, Sophie immediately switched gearsas if someone had pressed a hidden button. She stopped crying, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and said:
Can I have two at once?
Chocolate was always her emergency happiness button.
Adam remembered thinking, if only hospitals handed out chocolate, humanity would have solved immortality by now.
And then…
A quiet home, lamplight softening the corners.
Emma said,
Tomorrow, lets go to church. Well light a candle for health.
And Sophiemore serious than everasked,
In my bottom, like last time?
Emma covered her face; Sophie peered up at them both with an expression that said, Well, why are you laughing then?
And now, in that frantic car, the memory of Sophies funny words stabbed right through Adams heart.
Because it was in just those momentsher baffling, silly waysthat real life resided.
Her life.
Richard finally drove Adam to the hospital. They screeched to a haltalmost as if the car itself was afraid to delay even a moment.
Sophies alivethose were the first words Adam heard. Theyve taken her to intensive care right away, but for hours now, the doctors havent said a word.
Emma was allowed in to see her. Adam could only wait, and pray…
——-
It was one in the morningthe hour when the world seems to have stopped, leaving only a vast, lonely silence. Adam lifted his head and fixed his eyes on a second-floor window, where his daughter was fighting for her life.
In the window, almost like a scene from a frightening film, Emma appeared. She stood utterly still, arms at her sides, her gaze fixed right through the glass, right at him. Not a gesture, not a sigh, not the slightest movement for her phone.
Adam waved, as if the simple motion could beat back their shared fear. He called, but she didnt answer. She simply lookedas silent as the spirit of love, not daring even to move, in case she vanished altogether.
Then his phone rangshort, sharp.
The voice simply said:
Come in.
And hung up immediately.
Dread poured over Adam, thick as treaclehe could barely breathe. He tried to get up, but his legs wouldnt obey. It was as if the ground was holding him back, so he wouldnt have to hear the worst news.
He knew he had to go, but fear rooted him to the spot.
At that moment, a nurse appeared. Young, exhausted, in squashed-down trainers. She walked over to him.
Adam looked at her, and inside, the world collapsed.
That was it. The end. Any second now, she would tell him
The nurse bent down a little, and quietlybut clearly, as though pronouncing a sentence, only this one was brightshe said:
Shes going to make it. The worst is over…
The world swung around him.
His lips trembled, useless, like they didnt belong to him. He sat, trying to say somethingjust a thank you, just Oh God, just to breathe properly. But all he managed was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a quiver in his hands, and warm tears streaming down his facealive.
—–
After that night, most things stopped mattering to Adam.
He no longer cared about losing his job. He had no fear of looking daft, or awkward, or uncertain.
Only one thing truly anchored himthe memory of that night. How the world could break in a heartbeat. How easily someone youd move mountains for could vanish…
Everything else lost its significance.
It was as if the world before and after had been split by the finest, sharpest line of fear.
All other worries melted away, like pointless noise before true, living silence.
