Noah’s oxygen level plummeted, his heartbeat became erratic. Nurses rushed in. Doctors flooded the room. Michael stood frozen against the wall, watching strangers fight to keep his son alive.
Dr. Rachel Simmons, a specialist in rare respiratory diseases, studied the monitors with a growing frown.
« It doesn’t behave like a disease, » she said slowly. « It seems more like something mechanical, as if the airflow is disrupted. »
« We scanned everything, » protested another doctor.
« Then we’ll scan again, » replied Dr. Simmons. « A different way. »
Before the preparations were even finished, Miss Paulie arrived with Owen. Security hesitated, but Michael gestured for them to let them in without hesitation. Something deep inside told him it mattered.
Owen approached Noah’s bed slowly, his eyes fixed not on the screens, but on Noah’s throat, on the slight back-and-forth movement that didn’t quite look normal.
« There, » Owen murmured.
Dr. Simmons leaned over.
« What do you see? »
« It catches, » Owen said. « Every time he inhales. Like something is stuck. »
Silence fell once more in the room.
An emergency intervention was ordered. The camera descended further than during previous examinations, navigating curves that had previously been avoided. And then it appeared: a tiny piece of blue plastic, nestled in a fold of fabric, moving with each breath like a hidden valve.
Dr. Simmons removed it with a sure hand.
Noah’s oxygen level stabilized almost immediately.
A few hours later, Noah opened his eyes.
« Dad, » he murmured.
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