Page 10 of No Greater Love
I hesitated, then unzipped my backpack and handed Paige her lunch bag. "Your lunch. Protein bar for midmorning. Water bottle's full. Remember your inhaler's in the side pocket if you need it."
"Dad," Paige muttered, embarrassed. "I know."
"Want a juice box, Paige?" Tasha asked, already steering her toward the door. "We've got apple, orange, and prune... mmmmm, we should probably skip that last one."
Once Tasha and Paige were out of earshot, the door closing behind them, Sophia turned back to me with an expression I'd seen too many times—gentle concern mixed with unspoken questions.
"Are you okay, Nate?" she asked, lowering her voice. "Have you heard anything from... her?"
The careful way she avoided saying Sarah's name was deliberate, respectful. But it still landed like a blow. My jaw tightened involuntarily.
"No," I said, keeping my voice even. "Last I heard, a few years ago, she was somewhere in Florida. 'Finding herself.'" I couldn't help the short, humorless breath that escaped. "I still email photos of Paige to her folks, her grandparents. Never hear anything back. It is what it is."
I tried for casual dismissal, but the words tasted bitter. Eleven years of silence. Eleven years of Paige's first steps, first words, first day of school, science fair victories—all documented in carefully curated emails that disappeared into the void of Sarah's family's indifference. I'd even included my phone number. Not once had they reached out.
Sarah's abandonment had been clinical, almost elegant in its totality. No messy custody battles, no child support negotiations. She'd simply... gone. Left before the postpartum haze had fully cleared, while Paige still smelled of newborn and I was still fumbling through diaper changes with hands better trained for handling battlefield trauma than baby wipes.
"I need to find myself," she'd said, standing in our apartment doorway, a single suitcase beside her. "I told you I wasn't ready for this. I'm not mother material, Nate."
I'd nodded then, numb, Paige asleep in my arms. "The door's always open," I'd told her, the words automatic, dutiful. "She'll always know her mother loved her enough to make the right choice for herself."
A lie I'd perfected over the years, tailored to Paige's age and understanding. The closest I'd ever come to dishonesty with my daughter. But I'd die before I let Paige carry the weight of thinking she'd been left behind as an inconvenience.
Now, looking at Sophia's sympathetic face, I felt the familiar ache of wondering if I was enough. If Paige needed more than I could give her. A mother figure. A woman's guidance. The older she got, the more aware I became of my limitations.
But dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. Sarah was gone. Paige had me. We managed.
"Thank you, Sophia," I said, shifting the subject, my voice thicker than I'd intended. "For trusting Tasha with her. I don't know what I would have done."
"Tasha stepped up. And you needed a solution," Sophia replied with a small smile. "Go make your calls, Nate. Find a real babysitter. And Tasha just earned herself some serious good karma."
My sense of fairness flared up immediately. "I can have HR take an hour or two of my sick time or PTO to pay for her time," I offered. Tasha was doing me a personal favor. She shouldn't lose income because of my crisis.
Sophia waved me off. "Nate, this is real life, and real life is messy. If we asked corporate or HR, they wouldn't have let this happen at all, but that's why they pay me to figure these things out. Tasha can stay punched in." Her smile deepened. "You're an asset to our department. And you're our friend. You'd do the same for any of us."
Friend. The word caught me off guard. I'd spent so long keeping my colleagues at a professional distance—partly from military habit, partly from the fierce need to protect Paige from any more abandonment. But here was Sophia, casually claiming me as one of their own.
An unexpected warmth spread through me… immediately followed by guilt. Did I deserve this kindness? This flexibility? Every minute I spent in this office was a minute another nurse had to cover for me, a disruption to the careful system we all relied on.
I nodded, allowing a flicker of gratitude to show before pulling out my phone. Back to the task at hand. Efficient. Practical. That was my role. That was what I could control.
As I scrolled through my contacts, Sophia slipped out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I found Mrs. Swanson's number, my thumb hovering over the call button.
For just a moment, I allowed myself to wonder—as I did on the hard nights, the lonely nights—whether Sarah ever thought about Paige. Whether she ever looked at the calendar and realized it was her daughter's birthday. Whether she ever regretted walking away.
Then I shook it off. What Sarah did or didn't feel was irrelevant. She'd made her choice. I'd made mine. Every day since Paige was born, I'd chosen her, would keep choosing her, would build my life around ensuring she never felt the void Sarah had left.
I pressed "call" and pushed thoughts of Sarah firmly away. The present needed my attention. Always had. Always would.
four
tasha
Metro General wasquiet when I arrived, the calm before the inevitable storm of a Saturday morning. I was running just late enough to be annoying, but not late enough to get called out for it. The perfect sweet spot.
I pushed through the staff entrance, my travel mug of coffee clutched tightly in one hand, mentally preparing myself for another day of bodily fluids, entitled patients, and doctors who thought "nurse" was synonymous with "personal servant." At least my scrubs were fresh, and my coffee was strong enough to strip paint. Small victories.
The break room would be packed with the day shift getting their assignments, but I needed to refill my water bottle before facing humanity. As I approached, the door burst open, and I nearly collided with Nathan Crawford—Metro General's most annoyingly punctual nurse—looking frazzled in a way I'd never seen before.
