I had stopped looking at the clock.
It didn't help to know how long we had been waiting.
The minutes passed whether I counted them or not.
Daniel sat beside me, still holding my hand.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Across the hallway, Patricia adjusted the strap of her handbag and checked her phone.
The ordinary movement irritated me more than it should have.
I knew people reacted to fear differently.
I knew she might be frightened too.
But I couldn't understand how she could sit there checking a screen while I was struggling to imagine a future without my daughter.
Then I caught myself.
I didn't know what Patricia was feeling.
I knew what she had done.
That was enough to keep me from making excuses for her.
A nurse came through the doors carrying a small tray.
I stood so quickly that Daniel's hand slipped from mine.
"Excuse me. Is there news about Lily?"
She paused and told me that the team was still treating my daughter.
I nodded.
I thanked her.
Then I sat down again.
I hated how often I had to ask the same question.
I hated that there was no answer I could hold on to.
Mostly, I hated that I couldn't do anything useful.
At home, I had always believed a mother should be able to recognize what her child needed.
If Lily was hungry, I fed her.
If her diaper needed changing, I changed it.
If she cried, I tried to find out why.
There had always been something I could attempt.
Here, there was nothing.
I couldn't change a diaper.
I couldn't prepare a bottle.
I couldn't rock her against my shoulder.
I couldn't even see her.
I was simply her mother, sitting outside a room, waiting for strangers to tell me whether she would live.
Daniel released a slow breath.
"I keep thinking about when we brought her home."
I turned toward him.
He stared at the floor.
"She was so small."
I remembered that day.
The blanket had been folded around Lily, and I had watched every movement as Daniel carried her through the front door.
We had been nervous about everything.
We checked the temperature of the room.
We argued gently about where to put the diaper bag.
We stood over her bassinet long after she fell asleep.
I had thought those first days were difficult because we were learning how to be parents.
I hadn't understood how quickly an ordinary night could become something else.
"She was so little," I said.
Daniel nodded.
His eyes filled with tears.
For the first time since we arrived, I saw him stop trying to explain the situation.
He simply looked like a father who was afraid.
I wanted to comfort him.
I wanted to tell him that Lily would be all right.
But I couldn't promise something I didn't know.
So I stayed beside him.
We sat together until he finally wiped his face with his sleeve.
Then he looked toward his mother.
Patricia had been watching us.
When she noticed Daniel looking at her, she stood.
"Daniel, can I speak to you?"
He didn't move.
"Not now, Mom."
She looked surprised.
"I need to explain something."
He lowered his head.
"Please."
Patricia stood there for another moment.
Then she sat down again.
I watched the exchange without saying anything.
It was a small thing.
But I noticed it because Daniel had spent so much of the night responding to her demands before considering what I needed.
I didn't know whether that change would last.
I didn't ask him to promise anything.
I had learned that promises made during fear could sound stronger than they were.
What mattered would be what happened after the fear passed.
A little later, Dr. Blake returned.
I rose before he reached us.
He asked me to come a short distance away so we could speak without blocking the corridor.
Daniel followed.
Patricia stood too, but the doctor asked us to let him finish his conversation first.
I listened as he explained that Lily's condition remained critical.
He spoke plainly about the seriousness of her injuries and the work the team was doing.
I asked whether there was anything I could provide that would help.
He said the medical team needed an accurate history of what had happened.
I told him I had already explained the fall.
He nodded.
"Thank you for being clear with us."
I looked at him.
"I don't want anyone to misunderstand."
"That is why the details matter."
His words stayed with me.
Details.
The hallway.
The crying.
Patricia's approach.
The slap.
My sudden loss of balance.
Lily falling.
I couldn't change any of those details.
I could only describe them honestly.
When the doctor finished, I thanked him.
Then I returned to my chair.
Patricia watched me sit down.
"What did he say?"
I looked at her.
"He said Lily is still in critical condition."
She lowered her eyes.
For a moment, I thought she might say something about the baby.
Instead, she asked whether I had told the doctor that I had been exhausted.
I stared at her.
"Why does that matter more to you than what happened to Lily?"
Her face tightened.
"I'm trying to understand."
"Then understand this. I was holding my daughter, and you hit me."
Patricia looked away.
She didn't answer.
I turned toward the doors again.
My cheek had stopped hurting as much.
I could still feel the tender spot when I moved my face, but the pain was no longer sharp.
I didn't touch it.
I didn't need to keep checking whether the mark was visible.
The memory was enough.
Daniel sat down beside me.
He didn't defend his mother.
He didn't tell me to stop talking about the slap.
He simply stayed.
I rested my hands in my lap and tried to breathe slowly.
I had no idea what the next hour would bring.
I only knew that I had to remain there.
Lily was my daughter.
And until someone told me otherwise, I was going to keep waiting for her.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: When the Questions Turned Back Toward Our Home, I Realized That Telling the Truth Was Only the Beginning
The Night I Learned That Keeping the Peace Could Cost More Than I Was Willing to Lose
Part 9 of 24
