9-1-1 ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛs

Sick at school - Bobby Nash

Mia Nash - 10

Bobby Nash woke up to the sound of his alarm, the usual early morning routine stirring him from a deep sleep. As he stretched and prepared for the day ahead, he heard a small knock on his bedroom door. It was his ten-year-old daughter, Mia, standing there with a tired look on her face.

"Daddy, I don't feel good," she murmured, rubbing her eyes.

Bobby sighed, knowing Mia had pulled this stunt before just to get a day off school. He crouched down to her level and placed a hand on her forehead, checking for any signs of a fever. She felt a little warm, but not alarmingly so.

"Mia, sweetie, you know you can't skip school every time you don't feel perfect," Bobby said gently. "Remember last time? You were fine by lunch."

"But Daddy, my stomach really hurts," Mia insisted, her eyes filling with tears.

Bobby felt a pang of guilt but knew he had to be firm. "I tell you what, how about you get dressed and have some breakfast? If you're still not feeling well, I'll come and pick you up from school, okay?"

Mia nodded reluctantly, knowing she couldn't argue with her dad. She shuffled back to her room to get ready while Bobby finished preparing for his shift at the fire station.

---

At breakfast, Mia barely touched her cereal, pushing it around the bowl more than eating it. Bobby watched her carefully but decided to stick with his plan. He needed to get to work, and she needed to be at school.

"Come on, kiddo. Let's get you to school," Bobby said, giving her a reassuring smile.

Mia sighed but grabbed her backpack and followed her dad out to the car. The drive to school was quiet, Mia resting her head against the window, looking more miserable by the minute. Bobby parked and walked her to the entrance, giving her a quick hug.

"Remember, if you're still feeling sick, tell your teacher and I'll come get you," Bobby reminded her.

"Okay, Daddy," Mia replied softly before heading into the building.

---

Mia sat at her desk in Ms. Roberts' math class, her head resting on her arms. She felt a wave of nausea pass through her, making it hard to concentrate on the equations on the board. Her vision blurred, and she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"Mia, can you come up to the board and solve the next problem?" Ms. Roberts called out, her voice cutting through the haze of Mia's discomfort.

Mia lifted her head slowly, trying to focus on her teacher's words. She stood up, but as she walked to the front of the class, her legs felt weak and wobbly. She reached the board, picked up the chalk, and stared blankly at the numbers, unable to make sense of them.

"Mia, we've been over this. You need to pay attention," Ms. Roberts said, a hint of frustration in her voice. "This is the third time this week you've seemed distracted. Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

Mia shook her head, feeling tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ms. Roberts. I'm just not feeling well," she whispered.

Ms. Roberts sighed and placed a hand on her hip. "If you weren't feeling well, you should have told your father this morning. Go back to your seat and try to keep up, alright?"

Mia nodded and returned to her desk, feeling humiliated and miserable. She rested her head back on her arms, wishing the day would just be over. The room spun slightly as she closed her eyes, hoping the nausea would pass.

As the class continued, Mia's condition only worsened. She barely heard the lessons and instructions, her mind clouded with discomfort and a growing headache. She felt herself drifting in and out of a light, uneasy sleep, unable to focus on anything but the churning in her stomach.