But just then, a child at the next table suddenly collapsed, his body convulsing violently as he fell off his chair. White foam frothed at his mouth, his limbs jerking uncontrollably.
His family panicked, their faces stricken with fear. It was clear they had never encountered this before. Desperate, they called for help, but I knew the child wouldn’t last until the ambulance arrived.
Without hesitation, I stepped forward.
I quickly placed chopsticks horizontally into his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue, then began administering first aid. Slowly, his convulsions subsided, and the foaming stopped—but his eyes remained unfocused, dazed.
I turned to his parents. “Take him to the hospital now while he’s stable.”
But before they could react, Faye suddenly rushed forward.
She shoved me aside, stuffed a pill into the child’s mouth, and gently wiped his face with a tissue, her movements practiced and careful.
Moments later, the child blinked, his consciousness returning. His family sighed in relief, their panic melting into gratitude. They turned to thank me—only for Faye to step in, blocking their way.