Chapter One: Omar
A baby whimpered, then another squealed, then the whole room woke up and wailed.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh God.”
I reached for the first baby with both hands, hoping a little love time might settle it down, but the other cries grew louder, and I yanked back. “Guys! I’m new here. Be gentle, please.”
They only screamed louder, tiny birds with beaks wide and impossibly strong lungs.
“Omar!” barked a voice that carried enough authority to make me trip over myself.
As I turned, three other nurses rushed into the room and scooped up charges. A mix of lullabies and other soothing sounds replaced the babies cries. I wanted to shrink under one of the tanks and vanish.
Olivia, the boss of all bosses, the one that finished the game in a way that took weeks to master, the one you could never kill—only make her stronger—stood at the nurse’s station, clipboard in hand and an expression that could’ve curdled milk. Her sharp eyes hid behind square glasses. A no-nonsense bun and a voice that frightened mountains into moving out of her way completed her uniform. “Come here.”
I scurried over like a guilty schoolboy. “Yes, ma’am?”
She squinted, the kind that felt like it could see right through my skin and into my soul. “Rule number one: Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’m not running a finishing school, and I am not your mother. It’s Olivia. Clear?”
“Crystal,” I stammered.
She thrust a clipboard into my hands. “Good. You’re on baby-watch. These are your assignments. Read them, memorize them, live them. If you have any questions, figure it out.” She paused, then added with a faint smirk, “Or come find me if you’re about to set something on fire.”
“Got it,” I said, flipping through the paperwork like it was written in a foreign language. Weight charts, feeding schedules, oxygen levels—I was in over my head and sinking fast.
“Don’t look so terrified,” Olivia said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “This isn’t an audition for a horror movie. These babies don’t need an actor; they need a nurse. Now move.”
She strode away, leaving me clutching the clipboard like it was a life preserver. One of the other nurses holding a now-sleeping baby gave me a sympathetic look. I wanted to believe she’d been in my shoes, but no one could ever feel as lost as I did in that moment.
I drew in a deep breath and scanned the room.
Rows of incubators lined the walls, each one housing a miniature human hooked up to more monitors and wires than seemed possible. I’d spent forever in training, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the reality of it. These babies weren’t just tiny; they were fragile, like porcelain dolls that might shatter if I even breathed too hard.
My hands were bigger than some of their heads.
How was I supposed to “handle with care” when the packages I was handling were made of living, breathing tissue paper?
“Hey, you okay?”
I turned to see another of the nurses who’d rushed in, a bubbly woman with a messy ponytail and a name tag that read “Carlie.” Stickers of Disney characters were stuck beside her name. They made me smile.
Carlie was holding a bottle of formula in one hand and a stack of blankets in the other. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just trying to make sure I don’t break anything,” I said with a nervous laugh.
She grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll break something. We all do. Just make sure it’s not a baby.”
I’m pretty sure my face turned six shades paler.
Carlie laughed and patted my shoulder and glanced at my name badge.
“Relax . . . Omar. You’ll do fine. Just start with B5 over there. She’s easy—no IVs, no special orders, just feed her, burp her, and put her back to sleep.”
“Feed, burp, sleep. Got it,” I repeated, like I was rehearsing lines for a play.
The two other nurses scooted behind Carlie, their babies now comfortably sleeping. Carlie tossed me one last grin and left.
I approached B5’s incubator with all the confidence of someone defusing a bomb. Inside was a tiny, squirming bundle of pink, her little fists waving in the air as if to say, “What took you so long?”
“Hi there, sweetheart,” I whispered, reaching for the latch on the incubator. My hands were shaking so much it took three tries to get it open. I slipped inside and gently lifted her out, cradling her like she was made of glass.
It felt like I was holding a whisper.
“There we go,” I murmured, grabbing the prepped bottle from the nearby station. “Let’s get you fed, okay?”
She latched onto the bottle like a champ, and for a brief moment, I felt a spark of confidence. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I wasn’t a total disaster.
And then she spit up.
All over me.
Then did it again.
“Aw, really? I thought we were friends. You know, I feed, you don’t vomit all over me. That kind of friends,” I muttered, grabbing a burp cloth and trying to clean us both up without dropping her. “First day on the job, and I’m already a human napkin.”
“Welcome to the club,” Carlie called from across the room, laughing. “It’s initiation. You’re one of us now!”
I managed to get B5 burped and back to sleep without any further disasters, but by the time I returned her to her incubator, I felt like I’d run a marathon.
And that was just one baby.
There were five more on my list.
The next few hours were a blur of bottles, diapers, and beeping monitors. Every time I thought I’d caught up, Olivia appeared like a hawk swooping down on prey.
“Omar, why is C7’s oxygen saturation at 94%? Did you check her cannula?”
“Uh, no, not yet,” I stammered, scrambling to fix it.
“And why is A3’s feeding chart incomplete? You need to log everything immediately.”
“Yes, ma—Nurse Olivia. On it.”
“And for the love of all things holy, tie your shoelaces before you trip and take down half the unit.”
“Right, sorry, ma’am, I mean sir, I mean Olivia!”
By the time lunchtime rolled around, I was ready to collapse.
I’d barely managed to scarf down half a granola bar when Olivia appeared again, clipboard in hand and an expression that suggested she’d just spotted me trying to sneak out of detention.
“Omar, break time’s over. D2 needs a diaper change, and E4’s temperature needs to be rechecked. While you’re at it, try not to look like you’re about to cry. It unnerves the parents. Hell, it unnerves me.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hide.
Instead, I saluted her with what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Yes, Nurse Olivia. Right away, Nurse Olivia.”
As the day wore on, I started to find some semblance of rhythm—sort of—a bit.
I figured out how to juggle multiple tasks without spilling formula all over myself. I learned which monitors to ignore and which ones meant imminent disaster. I discovered that Olivia, for all her bark, wasn’t entirely the tooth-lined shark I’d taken her for. She actually smiled when I managed to swaddle F6 in under a minute.
“Not bad,” she said, her tone grudgingly approving. “You might survive your first week after all.”
“High praise,” I said, trying not to sound too smug.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she snapped, but I caught the faintest hint of a smile as she walked away. Under her breath, I heard, “Nursling.”
Was that irritation, amusement, or affection?
I had no clue.
By the end of my shift, I was a sweaty, exhausted mess, but I’d made it.
Barely.
I was logging my final notes when motion beyond my babies caught my eye. I glanced up, past the rows of incubators, through the glass partition that separated the NICU from the hallway.
Standing there, leaning into the glass with an easy confidence that made my heart skip a beat, was a tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly handsome firefighter. Smut or smoke, whatever they called it, streaked his face, and my gut screamed that he’d seen his share of a bad day, too. His blond hair was slightly tousled, and his chiseled jawline could’ve been sculpted by Michelangelo; but it was his eyes that caught me—intense, deep, and dreamy blue—and locked directly onto mine.
For a moment, the chaos of the NICU faded away.
The crying babies, the beeping monitors, Olivia’s ever-present clipboard—it all disappeared.
All I could see was him.
He gave me a small, lopsided smile, the kind that said he knew exactly the effect he was having on me. My face heated up, and I looked away, pretending to be deeply engrossed in my paperwork, but when I glanced back, he was still there, still watching me.
And this time, I couldn’t help but smile back.