When Nathan Reid's beloved daughter is diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, his world is turned upside down. Desperate to give her the best chance at a healthy life, Nathan searches for the finest medical care available. His quest leads him to the name K...
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"Reid. Get off the track." My eyebrows furrow as my manager, Nacho, speaks through my earpiece. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as I take a sharp turn right, bumping into a few other racers. "Reid!"
"I'm sort of busy right now, Nacho. What is it?" I groan, trying my hardest to focus on the track. Sweat trickles down my face under the heavy helmet, my body sweltering in the multiple layers of racing gear.
"It's your daughter. The nanny just called me, telling me—" He doesn't need to say anything more. My heart skips a beat as I take a sharp turn left, heading straight into the pit. Grabbing onto the halo, I pull myself out of the car, nearly tripping in my haste. I rip off my helmet and toss it aside without a second thought. Nacho stands by the entrance, holding my car keys out to me.
"Where is she?" I demand, my voice raw with urgency.
"St. Mary's Hospital," Nacho replies.
I sprint through the exit doors, my Porsche waiting outside. I unlock the door and slide in, the engine roaring to life. I probably earned three speeding tickets on the way, and it's a miracle I didn't crash. I didn't care about the car since I left it running, keys inside, outside the emergency room. It was stolen that night—one hundred thousand down the drain—but for my daughter's life? It's a small price to pay.
Bursting into the ER reception, I approach the desk, my heart pounding. The nurse looks up at me with wide eyes.
"My daughter? Sophia Reid? Where is she?"
"She is in room 502. Doctor Andrews is waiting for you."
I dash down the hallway, barely noticing the stark, sterile environment of the hospital. Room 502 looms ahead, and I push the door open, my breath catching in my throat. Sophia is lying in a small hospital bed, her tiny body dwarfed by the sterile white sheets. Doctor Andrews stands beside her, a solemn expression on his face.
"Mr. Reid," he says, his tone gentle but serious.
I ignore him for a single moment, walking towards my daughter as I fall to my knees beside her bedstand. My hands gently grazes her dark hair, and her eyes open up softly, an oxygen mask settled over her face as she takes small breaths. She was only fucking two years old. I look up, and Doctor Andrews sighs softly.
"What is it?"
"Sophia has been diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis. It's a genetic disorder that affects the lungs and digestive system." I expected it. I knew this would be coming since her mother passed away from the same thing, I nod my head, already knowing what this meant for us.
It means she will require ongoing medical care, including medications, physiotherapy, and frequent doctor visits. With proper management, many children with CF live into adulthood, but it is a serious condition. I remember the doctor saying the same thing to Sophia's mother.
