Sophie Miller was burning with fever on the nurse’s cot, but the moment I reached for the phone, she screamed, “Don’t call my mom!”

When Monday morning arrived, the sun was shining bright over Oak Valley Elementary. The autumn leaves were turning vibrant shades of gold and red, and the air was crisp and clean.

I was organizing the immunization records when the door to the health office clicked open.

Sophie Miller stood in the doorway.

She looked completely different. Her skin was clear, her eyes were bright and full of life, and she wore a brand-new yellow sweater that made her look like a little ray of sunshine. She carried her backpack over one shoulder, and her pencil was firmly tucked into her front pocket.

"Good morning, Nurse Helen!" she said, her voice loud and clear.

"Good morning, Sophie!" I beamed, walking out from behind my desk. "Look at you! You look wonderful."

"I feel wonderful," she said, bouncing slightly on her heels. "And guess what?"

"What?"

"My mom got the job!" Sophie clapped her hands together. "She starts today! She gets to wear a green apron, and she says she doesn't have to work at night anymore. She can be home for dinner every single night."

I felt a lump form in my throat. I knelt down so I was at her eye level, just like I had done when she was sick and terrified. "That is the best news I have heard all year, Sophie."

"And Mom said I don't ever have to wait until three anymore," Sophie whispered, a serious look returning to her face for just a moment. "She said if my finger even tickles like I'm getting sick, I'm supposed to tell my teacher right away."

"Your mom is exactly right," I said, gently squeezing her shoulders. "Because what is your job?"

"To be the child," Sophie said proudly, remembering the words we had shared during her darkest hour.

"And what is my job, and your mom's job?"

"To be the grown-ups."