Chapter 3 - Four, Not Five
The intake form Kara had started still said Emma was five. I crossed it out with a shaking hand and wrote FOUR in the margin.
Dr. Mira Shah met me outside the treatment room. "Her breathing and vital signs are reassuring," she said. "We're monitoring her head injury and caring for the skin on her face. We need to watch how she responds as the medication wears off."
"Will she remember?"
"She may. She may remember pieces. Don't press her for an account. Let the professionals talk to her when she's ready."
I nodded, though every cell in my body wanted to ask my little girl who had hurt her and why.
Emma looked impossibly small under the hospital blanket. Without her yellow sweatshirt, I could see the soft blue undershirt I'd helped her choose that morning. She had insisted it matched her socks. One sock was now in a plastic bag with her other belongings.
"Hi, peanut," I whispered. "I'm right here."
Her eyelids fluttered. "Mommy?"
"Right here."
"Did I break breakfast?"
I pressed my lips together until I could speak. "No, honey. Breakfast is just food. You're the important part."
"Nana said don't make trouble."
"You didn't."
Her fingers brushed my sleeve. "Is Aunt Vanessa mad?"
"You don't have to worry about her."
She fell asleep again. I sat still, holding a little hand that kept slipping from mine whenever she relaxed.
Denise came back with information about a child-safety assessment and a plan to keep relatives away from Emma's room while the investigation continued. She explained that an interview might happen later with a trained specialist.
"My mother will say I'm tearing the family apart," I told her.
"Your daughter needs a safe place to recover," she said. "That's our first question. Not whether your relatives approve."
My supervisor at the bookkeeping office called. I expected a lecture about missed hours. Instead, Gloria said, "Take the leave you need. We'll cover the accounts."
For the first time all morning, I cried.
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When I returned to Emma's bedside, a hospital security officer was waiting near the door.
"Someone downstairs says he's here on your sister's behalf," he told me. "He wants access to Emma's medical information."
