Chapter 9 - The Mentor
As Camila grew older, she developed a deep desire to help other children who had experienced trauma. She knew firsthand what it felt like to be terrified, alone, and helpless in the dark.
When she turned fourteen, she volunteered at the very hospital where she had saved her siblings: St. Mary’s Hospital.
Every Saturday, Camila would walk through the double doors—the same doors she had stumbled through barefoot and crying seven years prior—wearing a bright blue volunteer vest. She spent her time reading to children in the pediatric ward, playing games with them, and offering a comforting presence to worried parents.
Nurse Margaret, who was now the head of the pediatric nursing department, watched Camila with immense pride.
“You have a gift, Camila,” Margaret said one afternoon as they sat in the hospital cafeteria. “The children open up to you in a way they don’t with the doctors or nurses. You understand them.”
“I just want them to know they aren't alone,” Camila said, holding a cup of warm tea. “When I was here, you and Laura made me feel like I didn't have to carry the whole world on my shoulders anymore. I want to give that same feeling to other kids.”
One afternoon, a young boy was brought into the ER. He was around eight years old, his clothes dirty, his eyes wide with terror. His mother had been injured in a car accident, and he was waiting alone in the family room, refusing to speak to anyone.
The social worker on duty tried to comfort him, but the boy only curled into a ball, hiding his face.
Camila gently knocked on the door. “Can I try?” she asked the social worker.
With a nod of approval, Camila walked into the room. She didn't try to force the boy to talk. Instead, she sat on the floor a few feet away from him, pulled a sketchbook and some crayons from her bag, and began to draw.
She drew a beautiful green yard, a cozy cottage, and a large, friendly oak tree.
The boy slowly peeked over his arms. He watched her hand move across the paper.
“My mommy taught me to draw when I was little,” Camila said softly, not looking up, keeping her voice calm and soothing. “Whenever I felt scared, she told me to draw a place where I felt safe. It helped me remember that the scary times don’t last forever.”
She slid a blank piece of paper and a blue crayon toward the boy.
“Do you want to draw your safe place?”
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For a long minute, the boy didn't move. Then, slowly, he reached out, took the blue crayon, and began to draw a simple, crooked line.
Camila smiled, her heart warming. In that moment, she realized that the rusty shopping cart she had pushed so long ago hadn't just saved her brother and sister; it had set her on a path to saving countless others.
