Chapter 2: The Last Number She Dialed
I turned to face my mother.
She didn't flinch.
She just crossed her arms and said, "The child is dramatic.
She does it for attention."
The nurse stepped forward.
"Sir, I need to speak with you privately."
We moved into the hallway.
She kept her voice low, but her hands were shaking.
"Your daughter has been found on the floor three times this week.
Always when you're not in the room.
Always when your mother is the only one with her."
I couldn't speak.
"The second time," she continued, "Elodie told me her grandmother said the bed was for sick children.
That she wasn't sick enough to lie down."
My chest went tight.
"She's on oxygen," I said.
"She has a collapsed lung."
The nurse nodded slowly.
"I know."
I walked back into the room.
My mother was smoothing the bedsheet like nothing had happened.
Elodie was watching her from the pillow, rabbit clutched to her chest, not making a sound.
That silence was the worst part.
A seven-year-old who had already learned it was safer not to cry.
Then my mother looked up at me and smiled.
"You're back so soon.
We were fine, weren't we, Elodie?"
Elodie said nothing.
May you like
And that's when I noticed the call log on my mother's phone, face-up on the chair.
The last number she had dialed wasn't mine.
