The California sun beat down on Kris Jenner's pristine driveway as the iconic black gate swung open. Kourtney Kardashian, usually a picture of effortless cool, practically flew out of her chauffeured car, her phone clutched in a death grip. Behind her, a frantic Travis Barker juggled a diaper bag and a wailing Mason Disick.
"Mom! We need your help!" Kourtney shrieked, her voice cracking with panic. Alerted by the commotion, Kim Kardashian materialized from the doorway, her perfectly contoured face creasing in concern. Khloe Kardash,ian emerged moments later, a half-eaten protein bar abandoned on the counter.
"It's Rocky," Kourtney blurted, her voice tight. "He's been burning up all afternoon, and nothing seems to bring it down."
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The mention of Kourtney's youngest son sent a collective gasp through the group. The normally boisterous Kardashian klan fell silent, the gravity of the situation settling in. Travis, ever the rock, knelt beside Kourtney, his hand resting reassuringly on hers.
"We tried Tylenol, cold compresses, everything," Kourtney continued, her voice trembling. "He's barely responsive, and now he's starting to lose his appetite."
Kris, ever the manager, took charge. "Alright, everyone calm down. We need to get Rocky to the pediatrician. Travis, take Kourtney to the car. Kim, call Dr. Chang and let him know we're on our way."
The usually glamorous Kardashian entourage descended into controlled chaos. Kourtney, pale and drawn, clung to Travis as they hurried towards the car. Kim, her designer sunglasses abandoned, barked orders into her phone, her voice laced with a barely concealed fear. Khloe, ever the pragmatist, grabbed a stuffed bunny and a sippy cup, her face etched with worry.
The drive to the pediatrician's office was a blur. Kourtney gripped Travis's hand so tightly her knuckles turned white, her eyes glued to Rocky in the backseat. Mason, usually the chatterbox, whimpered beside her, sensing his mother's distress.
Dr. Chang, a kind-faced man with years of experience treating Kardashian ailments (from extravagant allergic reactions to designer dust to the occasional designer flu), ushered them into an examination room. He examined Rocky with a practiced eye, his brow furrowing slightly.
"He definitely has a fever," Dr. Chang confirmed, "but there are no signs of any ear infections or strep throat. It could be a virus, but I'd like to run a few tests just to be safe."
The wait for the test results was agonizing. The usually vibrant Kardashian sisters sat huddled together, a stark contrast to their usual glamorous facade. Travis held Kourtney close, whispering reassurances in her ear. Khloe paced the room, occasionally stopping to comfort a tearful Mason. Kim, for once, seemed lost for words, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms.
Finally, Dr. Chang returned, a reassuring smile on his face. "It's just a nasty stomach bug," he announced. "Nothing a little rest and fluids can't handle. I'll prescribe some medication to help with the fever and nausea."
Relief washed over the Kardashian clan like a tidal wave. Kourtney burst into tears, burying her face in Travis's shoulder. Kim released a shaky breath, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. Khloe scooped Mason into a tight hug, whispering about brave little brothers.
The drive back home was a different story. Laughter filled the car as Rocky, revitalized by a dose of medicine and his favorite stuffed bunny, babbled nonsensically. Kourtney, visibly relaxed, leaned against Travis, a grateful smile gracing her lips.
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