Taylor had always mistrusted doctors. A traumatic event from his childhood had planted a deep seed of resentment, and over the years, that distrust shaped his life in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It even made him ignore an ambulance in a traffic jam one fateful morning—a decision that nearly cost him everything.
Taylor’s wife, Polly, had been asking for help. With three children, her job as a writer, and the demands of running their home, she was overwhelmed. “We need a nanny,” she pleaded one evening after dinner.

Taylor shook his head firmly. “A nanny? They’re too expensive, and it’s not worth it,” he dismissed. “Your job isn’t even real,” he thought, though he would never dare say it aloud.
Polly sighed, defeated. She knew Taylor wouldn’t budge. His upbringing—raised mostly by a single mother after his father abandoned the family—made him believe in self-reliance above all else. “I turned out fine without help,” he often said. Polly gave up asking, knowing her pleas would fall on deaf ears.

One afternoon, Polly fainted in the living room. Their eldest son, Mark, panicked and called Taylor at work. “Should I call 911?” the boy asked.
“No, absolutely not!” Taylor barked. “Call Mara, the neighbor. She’s a nurse. I’ll be there soon.”