“She had a fall while riding her bike. An ambulance is bringing her in now.”

After that, everything blurred. I don’t remember hearing the hospital’s name, grabbing my things, or clocking out.

When I arrived, they had already taken her in. Her nanny was pacing nervously. I sent her home—she was too shaken to even call me after the accident.

All I could focus on was my child, lying there looking so small.

Her face was pale, her leg wrapped, machines beeping steadily beside her. A doctor stood at the foot of the bed, explaining the situation.

“She rode over a rock and hit the ground hard before her nanny could do anything. There’s damage that requires surgery. After that, she’ll need extensive therapy to walk normally again.”

Then came the part that nearly made me collapse.

The cost.

Even with insurance, it would run into thousands—far more than I could afford.

I nodded as if I understood, but my thoughts had already jumped to one person.

Ethan.

Calling my ex-husband was the last thing I wanted to do, but Olivia needed help, and I couldn’t do it alone.

So I stepped into the hallway, took a deep breath, and dialed his number.

He answered on the third ring.

“What is it?” he said flatly.

“It’s Olivia,” I replied. “She’s in the hospital. You need to come here; we have to talk.”

There was a pause, then a sigh.

“I’m busy.”

“Ethan. This isn’t optional.”

Another silence.

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

He showed up forty minutes later, strolling in without any urgency.

“So, what’s going on?”

I explained everything in the waiting room.

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