Megan Callahan’s hands shook as she pressed a clean handkerchief against the bl:ee:ding forehead of the elderly woman lying on the sidewalk. The cold concrete in downtown Chicago dug into her knees, yet that discomfort meant nothing compared to the interview she was supposed to attend across town.

She had one real shot at Saint Aurora Medical Center, and she could feel it slipping away with every passing minute. Still, she kept her voice steady as she leaned closer to the injured stranger.

“Ma’am, can you hear me, please stay with me and look at me.”

The woman blinked slowly, her pale blue eyes unfocused and confused. Her tailored wool coat, the kind Megan had only seen in store windows along Michigan Avenue, was streaked with dust from the brick wall she had collapsed beside.

“I do not remember what happened,” the woman whispered.

“You are going to be okay,” Megan replied gently. “An ambulance is on the way and they will take good care of you.”

Harper, Megan’s seven year old daughter, clung tightly to her mother’s arm, her wide eyes filled with fear and urgency. She tugged at the sleeve of Megan’s carefully ironed navy uniform.

“Mom, the lady at the hospital said you cannot be late.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Megan answered, forcing a calm she did not feel.

For three years she had studied nursing at night at a community college in the South Side. During the day she scrubbed office floors in River North to pay rent on their small apartment in Pilsen.

Everything she had endured was for this morning’s interview. A stable position at Saint Aurora meant steady income, health insurance, and the chance to move Harper to a better public school near Lincoln Park.

“Your interview is at 9:30,” Harper insisted softly.

Megan glanced at her watch and felt her chest tighten. “It is 9:35 now, but we are not leaving until she is safe.”

The older woman stirred again and looked frightened. “Where am I, and where is my son?”

“You had a fall,” Megan explained while checking the wound carefully. “You hit your head, so you might feel confused, but help is coming.”

Across the street, Patrick O’Connell stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. His mother, Dorothy O’Connell, was lying on the pavement, and a young nurse in uniform was tending to her with focused precision.