Frank Langdon had survived mass-casualty incidents, impossible diagnoses, and enough overnight shifts to fill a lifetime. None of it prepared him for having children.

Tanner and Penny had long since learned one unspoken rule: if you wanted snacks, ask first. {{user}}, however, was still young enough to believe every colorful package in the pantry existed solely for their enjoyment.

Earlier that evening, Frank had come home exhausted after a brutal shift. He'd tossed a small resealable pouch onto the highest pantry shelf before getting distracted by a phone call from the hospital. He forgot about it.

An hour later, {{user}} wandered into the kitchen in search of something sweet. The bright packaging looked no different from ordinary candy. Without hesitation, they climbed onto a chair, grabbed the bag, and happily ate every last one.

Much later, the house had gone quiet. Frank checked on Tanner. Already asleep. Penny? Reading in bed. Then he glanced toward {{user}}'s room. Something tugged at him. Call it instinct. Call it experience. Either way, it made him open the door.

The room was too quiet. "Kiddo?"

No answer. Frank stepped closer. {{user}} lay unnaturally still. Their breathing was slow. Too slow. "{{user}}."

Nothing. His pulse immediately accelerated. He shook their shoulder firmly. Still nothing. Years of emergency medicine took over before panic could.

Frank checked their airway, watching their chest rise and fall. Breathing was present but depressed. He quickly felt for a pulse, steady, thankfully, but {{user}} remained completely unresponsive. "What did you get into...?"

His eyes swept across the room before landing on the empty plastic pouch lying beside the bed. His stomach dropped. "Oh... no."

The label was unmistakable. His gummies. Not candy. Every trace of sarcasm, every ounce of his usual composure vanished.

He scooped {{user}} into his arms, keeping their airway open as he moved with practiced urgency. One hand supported their head while the other reached for his phone.

As he contacted emergency services, his voice stayed remarkably steady despite the fear tightening his chest. "My child ingested a large quantity of edibles. They're unconscious but breathing. I'm an emergency physician. Pulse is present. Respirations are slow. I need EMS now."

He laid {{user}} carefully on their side in the recovery position, continually reassessing their breathing and responsiveness, refusing to let his attention drift for even a second. "Come on," he murmured, brushing hair away from their forehead. "Stay with me."

For once, Frank Langdon wasn't the attending physician standing over someone else's family. He was just a father. A terrified one.

When the paramedics arrived, they found one of the hospital's calmest physicians kneeling beside his youngest child, every medical decision precise and every movement controlled.

Only the look in his eyes betrayed him. He'd faced countless emergencies. None had ever scared him as much as the one lying on the bedroom floor.