Page 55 of No Greater Love
Then she began to cry. Not the quiet tears of a worried mother, but the soul-deep, keening wail of someone whose world had just shattered. Mia stirred in her arms, whimpering at the sound.
I had heard people cry before. In the ER, you hear every kind of grief—the sharp grief of sudden loss, the exhausted grief of prolonged illness, the angry grief of unfairness. But I had never heard anything like the sound Jessica made. It was primal, devastating, the sound of every assumption about safety and love being ripped away.
Sophia immediately moved to gently take Mia from Jessica's arms, holding the sleepy toddler while her mother fell apart. Dr. Lee was already on his phone, making the necessary calls.
"I'm so sorry, Jessica," I said, my own voice thick with tears I was desperately trying to hold back. "I know this is devastating. But we're going to take care of Mia, and we're going to make sure she's safe."
"How could I not know?" Jessica sobbed. "How could I not protect her? She's my baby. She's my everything. How could I let this happen?"
"This is not your fault," Sophia said firmly, still holding Mia. "Do you understand me? This is not your fault. You brought her here because you knew something was wrong. You did exactly what a good mother does."
But Jessica was beyond hearing reassurances. She was lost in the horror of what had been done to her child, what she had unknowingly allowed to happen.
I excused myself and walked quickly to the bathroom, where I locked the door and leaned against the sink, trying to regain control. My hands were shaking. My stomach felt like it was full of broken glass.
When I came back out, Sophia was waiting for me in the hallway.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," I lied automatically.
"Tasha." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I've been doing this for fifteen years. I've seen too many of our colleagues—good nurses, smart nurses, dedicated nurses—who we've lost forever because they didn't want to ask for help. We see the worst things in the world, and we're good at helping people through them, but we're awful at helping ourselves."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"You know what the most dangerous thing is?" Sophia continued. "When we start thinking, 'What right do I have to complain or be sad when so many other people have it so much worse?' It's a fallacy. Just because someone else's pain is visible doesn't mean yours doesn't matter."
"I'm fine, Sophia. Really."
"This is a hard thing to see and go through," she said, ignoring my deflection. "If you need help processing it, we have grief counselors available. I'm going to get you that information this afternoon. And if you need anything else, anything at all, I'm here. Anytime. Really."
I managed a thin smile. "Thank you."
"Also," Sophia said, glancing back at the charge desk, "we're overstaffed today. I need to send someone home early."
I stared at her. In three years at Metro General, I had never once seen us overstaffed. Not even close.
"Sophia, you don't have to?—"
"Four o'clock is fine," she said, as if I hadn't spoken. "Get out of here. Go home. Rest."
I looked at her for a long moment, seeing the kindness behind the professional facade, understanding that she was giving me exactly what I needed, even if I couldn't ask for it.
"Sophia," I said as I gathered my things. "Does it ever get easier? Does it ever... go away?"
Her expression softened, and for just a moment, I saw the weight she carried—fifteen years of cases like Mia, fifteen years of being the rock everyone else leaned on.
"No," she said quietly. "It doesn't. But you learn to carry it. And you don't carry it alone."
I nodded and headed for the parking garage, pulling out my phone as I walked. I scrolled to Nate's contact, my thumb hovering over the call button.
He was probably having a nice day off with Paige. I didn't want to ruin that. But I also couldn't go home to my empty apartment and sit alone with what I'd just witnessed.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit call.
"Hey," Nate's voice was warm, relaxed. "This is a nice surprise. What's up?"
"Are you busy?" I asked, trying to keep my voice normal.
