She hadn’t answered.
At the time, I thought she was simply tired.
Now the memory made my hands cold.
Dr. Stevens placed the bottle inside a clear evidence bag.
“I’m documenting everything,” he said.
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because we need to take this seriously.”
I understood what he meant.
This was no longer a family misunderstanding.
There was a bottle bearing Diane’s name.
There was a four-year-old child who said she had been given the medication.
And there was a physician documenting the child’s symptoms.
Whatever Diane’s explanation was going to be, it would have to account for all of that.
Dr. Stevens crouched in front of Emma.
“Emma, what did Grandma tell you the pills were for?”
“For being good.”
He paused.
“For being good?”
Emma nodded.
“What does being good mean?”
Emma looked at me.
I could see fear in her eyes.
I reached out and held her hand.
“You can tell us.”
She whispered:
“When I don’t cry.”
My chest tightened.
“What happens if you cry?”
“Grandma gets mad.”
Dr. Stevens and I exchanged a glance.
I felt something inside me break.
Emma continued.
“She says big girls don’t cry.”
I pulled her gently against me.
“You don’t have to be a big girl all the time.”
She buried her face against my shoulder.
Dr. Stevens stood.
“I want to run some tests and monitor her closely.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I believe she has a good chance of being okay, especially because you brought her in.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t stop thinking about one question.
“How long?”
Dr. Stevens looked at me.
“How long has she been taking it?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“That’s something we’ll need to establish.”
I looked down at Emma.
Three weeks.
My mother-in-law had been in our house for three weeks.
And suddenly every strange thing Emma had done during those weeks seemed connected.
Then my phone vibrated.
It was my husband, Daniel.
Mom says you took Emma to the doctor. What happened?
I stared at the message.
I didn’t know how to answer.
How could I tell him that his mother had apparently been secretly giving our four-year-old prescription medication?
My hands hovered over the keyboard.
Finally, I typed:
Come to the hospital. Now.
His reply came less than a minute later.
Why? Is Emma okay?
I looked at my daughter.
Then at the evidence bag.
