“He needed someone. I was someone.”

It was 11 PM on a Tuesday night in the pediatric oncology ward.

Six-year-old Kylian trembled in his bed, the steady beeping of the IV pumps the only sound in the darkness. His mother, exhausted from days without sleep, finally drifted off beside him.

Nurse Jenna had just completed a grueling 12-hour shift. Her kids were waiting at home, dinner long forgotten and cold. She had every right to walk away, to go home to her own family. But something deeper called her to stay.

She paused outside Kylian’s room, unsure if she should leave her shift behind.

But then, she heard his tiny voice.

“I’m scared. Please don’t leave me.”

And so, she didn’t.

For the next four hours — unpaid and off the clock — Jenna stayed by Kylian’s side, her stories about clumsy dogs, burnt pancakes, and little moments of joy filling the sterile air. Each word, a lifeline to a boy who just needed someone to be there.

When his mother awoke at 3 AM, she saw her son sleeping peacefully, and there was Nurse Jenna, hand in hand with him, asleep in the chair, her exhaustion mirrored in her quiet smile.

Later, when asked why she stayed, Jenna simply replied

“He needed someone. I was someone.”

Because heroes don’t always wear capes. Sometimes, they wear scrubs and a tired smile.