Hana gave birth to a daughter the next month. The little girl is named Nancy, and she looked just like her mom. Bob's genetics, with his blond hair and brown eyes, didn't stand a chance against Hana's black hair and black eyes. And although the pair of them wanted a son, they loved their baby girl so damn much.

With both of us now with children, I was surprised to see that June still hung around us as much as she could. June loved being with the babies, she held them almost every time she came over. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd carry both of them over to her house.

During this time, I wondered why June didn't have children. She was older than both me and Hana, and she and Duncan had been together for longer than me and Joe or Hana and Bob. June loved our children, and it made me wonder why she didn't have her own. I thought about asking a few times, but that question was way too personal and it'd be rude to even utter the words. June had been a good friend to me by not asking the questions she was probably dying to ask. I was at least going to do the same for her.

June's motherly attitude made her a fantastic sitter for Warren when I finally decided to go back to work. For those first few weeks, all I could think about was getting back to Warren. I loved my job, and I loved having something to do with my time again, but my son went above all of that. Dr. Adkins noticed my newfound restlessness and offered me a new arrangement, "Why don't you come in during the late shift? That way you get to spend time with your child and you'd still get to come here a few times a week."

I took this offer up, to which Joe agreed with. He looked down at Warren when he heard this new arrangement. "You hear that? Father and son time." He smirked and I rolled my eyes, knowing that father and son time would amount to Joe feeding Warren and then making an attempt to burp him. Joe was a good dad; everything he did now, he did for our Warren. Whether that was working longer hours for more money, or waking up at two in the morning when Warren started crying.

As I started working the late afternoon and early evening shifts at the hospital, I gathered a lot of information when it came to my coworkers. Between six-thirty and seven, most of the nurses went off to smoke cigarettes or whatever it was they did every day. I spent a lot of time with Mrs. Turner, who was a secretary with me and who was just as bitter and rude as she had been when I first met her. I had a few conversations with her, and didn't like what I was hearing.

I hated the Japanese and Germans responsible for committing crimes beyond my explanation, I didn't hate their entire races for being that certain race.

According to Mrs. Turner, the entire countries of Germany and Japan were to blame for everything that went wrong in our lifetime. "Think about it, Liebgott." Mrs. Turner said to me one evening. "First there was the First World War, and then the second. If we have a third by the time your child's in high school, it wouldn't surprise me. You're a veteran-you of all people should understand this." The way she said that I was a veteran was the same mix of emotions that women in Aldbourne used to give me: pity and frustration.

Mrs. Turner and I were working late one evening (the nurses had all disappeared, this time with a lot of doctors going with them) when a Chinese couple burst into the office. The husband was carrying a small boy in his arms-he looked to be about three years old. The wife rushed forward and crashed into our front desk.

"Please," She said. "Baby needs help." She made a wild gesture back to her son. I stood up from my seat and walked around the desk. Mrs. Turner hissed softly at me but I ignored her. I gently moved the wife aside to get a good look at her son. The little boy's was shaking intensely and his eyes were rolling around, trying to find something to focus on. The mother had started crying in fear.

"This way," I ordered the man, using the commanding voice I hadn't needed to use since Europe. The man looked like he understood my tone, not my words, and he quickly followed me into an exam room. Mrs. Turner watched me take them with narrowed eyes directly on the small family. I knew about her mistrust of any Asian people, but I shut her out and hurried them into the room.

"What happened?" I asked them, hoping one of them would understand. The father looked to his wife.

"He got fever few days ago," She said in broken English. "He start shaking now." Fresh tears filled her eyes.

I pulled out a stethoscope from the drawer and listened to his heartbeat. His pulse was still going, but it was getting fainter. I removed the stethoscope as the mother listed foods that they had had in their meal right before he got sick: peanuts, rice, celery, chicken, peas, eggs, and tiny bits of carrot. "Is he allergic to any of those?" She shook her head, not knowing.

How could you not know? I found myself asking over and over. In my mind, I went over the foods that were rationed during the war and my stopped on eggs. Rationed foods were just now really getting to the minorities of the country. Eggs were just now becoming available again...

"Has he ever had eggs before?" I asked.

"Not that I know," She said. "Not big portion." The little boy was still shaking violently, his eyes closed. I made myself think back to training in Toccoa, back when a man named Unger taught me and Roe all about the men's allergies. I remembered instantly that one of the replacements had been allergic to eggs. What did he tell us about treating allergies-?

I quickly rushed to the cabinet and opened it, scanning the many bottles of medicine until I found the one I needed. I pulled it down and poured a big spoonful. "Sit him up." I ordered. The mother understood and sat up her son. The boy's head lolled around and his father held him steady. As soon as I opened the kid's mouth, I forced the spoon into his mouth and down his throat. The boy's eyes widened and he almost tried to cough it back up but I stroked his throat, causing him to swallow.

There was a moment where nothing happened, and then the little boy heaved forward and I quickly put a trash can under his face. The boy threw up into it, his tiny arms wrapping around the trash can for support. His mom looked at me with wide eyes and I showed her the bottle of ipecac syrup. My thought process went along the lines of if the boy threw up his stomach contents, the eggs would leave his system.

The boy was feeling better after a few minutes; he finally stopped shaking. I made up a list of all foods with eggs in them, leading to a giant list. I gave it to the mother and made sure she understood that her son couldn't have these or else they'd end up right back here. She nodded several times and smiled gratefully at me. Her husband gave me a slight bow, carrying his son out and tears of happiness in his eyes. When they were gone, I went back to the front desk to Mrs. Turner.

"Why did you do that?" Mrs. Turner asked through gritted teeth. I glared at her.

"I'm not gonna apologize for saving a little boy's life," I told her firmly. Mrs. Turner stiffened and went back to filing papers.

The next morning went I went in for work, I was called into Dr. Adkins's office. Mrs. Turner gave me a blank look before turning her nose up at me. I went into my boss's office-he had taken the night off last night. Dr. Adkins gestured for me to sit and he sighed.

"I heard from Mrs. Turner that you treated a sick boy last night." Dr. Adkins started.

"None of the nurses of our wing were there," I said. "A lot of the doctors were also gone. You told me that for this job, I needed medical training of some sort. It seemed like common sense to try and save a little boy's life when no one else was present or willing."

"You're not in trouble, Mrs. Liebgott." Dr. Adkins said. "In fact, I'm recommending you to a nursing program that the University of California has. It's one of the best medical schools at the moment, and it's right here in town. I was writing my letter of recommendation right when you came in." He paused, taking in my stunned silence. He smiled and snorted. "You diagnosed and treated that boy to the nest of your abilities faster than most of my nurses who just came here to intern. Besides, I can't picture you as a secretary for the rest of your life."

Mrs. Turner must've been expecting me to get fired, or at the least severely reprimanded, because when I left Dr. Adkins's office with not even a slap on the wrist, she glared and shook her head, as if she couldn't believe it. I could barely believe it; but the idea of becoming a nurse, getting paid to do more of what I used to do, was far too tempting to even try to turn down.