Dr. Isabella Martinez had already been working for twelve hours at Lincoln City General Hospital when her phone vibrated inside the pocket of her white coat.
Outside her office, the hallway was packed like a crowded train station: mothers carrying babies, exhausted parents holding feverish children, and the familiar mix of disinfectant and stale coffee in the air.
Isabella was used to that chaotic environment where every second mattered.
She glanced at the phone. Unknown number.
Normally she would ignore it, but something—an instinct sharpened after decades of treating sick children—made her answer.
“Dr. Martinez?” a nervous young woman asked.
“Yes.”
“My name is Maria Lopez. You treated my son two years ago when he had pneumonia.”
Isabella searched her memory among hundreds of cases.
“Yes… Maria. What’s wrong?”
The young woman hesitated before speaking.
“I need a favor, doctor. I work as a nanny for a wealthy family.”
Isabella listened quietly.
“They have a six-month-old baby. His name is Oliver. And… he keeps losing weight. Specialists have examined him—very expensive ones—and they can’t find anything wrong.”
Isabella felt a knot form in her stomach.
“Does he have fever? Vomiting? Diarrhea?”