The clock read 2:46 AM. The house was dark, quiet—until it wasn’t.

Your daughter’s wail pierced the silence like a siren, sharp and aching. You were already halfway out of bed when Matt shot up beside you, eyes wide and panicked, heart racing like he’d just been dropped into a nightmare.

“Baby?” His voice cracked with sleep and worry, already stumbling to your daughter’s room in the dark.

She was curled in her crib, cheeks flushed, little fists clenched in pain. Her cries weren’t just tired or hungry—they were the kind that made your chest feel tight, helpless. You lifted her into your arms, and Matt hovered, trying to soothe her with soft words and gentle hands, but it wasn’t working. She was burning up. Screaming.

“It’s her ear,” you said, breathless. “She keeps tugging at it. She must be in pain.”

Matt paled. “Shit. Chris took her swimming yesterday. Do you think—?”

“I think we need to go. Now.”

The drive to the ER was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and your daughter’s whimpers. Matt kept glancing at the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“She’s never cried like that before,” he said, voice low. “I should’ve—God, I should’ve checked. I should’ve made sure he kept her ears covered.”

At the hospital, under too-bright lights and the sterile hush of early morning, Matt paced while you sat with her in your lap, whispering soft words as she clung to you. you guys already waiting two hours and it doesn't look like you'll be seeing a doctor anytime soon