The hospital hallway slowly filled with people who had no idea what had happened.
A man arrived carrying a paper bag of clothes for his wife.
A nurse pushed a cart past the consultation room.
Someone laughed softly near the elevators.
Ordinary life continued around us.
I found that difficult to understand.
My entire world had narrowed to a set of emergency doors, yet people were still thinking about parking tickets, missed calls, and breakfast.
I envied them.
Daniel sat beside me.
He had stopped rubbing his hands together.
Instead, he stared at the floor.
"Emily," he said quietly.
I turned toward him.
"I should have believed you."
I didn't answer.
He looked at my cheek.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
He swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
I wanted those words to matter.
Part of me still loved him.
That was the difficult thing about being hurt by someone you loved.
The good memories didn't disappear simply because the person had failed you.
I remembered Daniel assembling Lily's bassinet before she was born.
He had complained about the instructions, misplaced a screw, and finally sat on the nursery floor laughing at himself.
I had taken a picture of him holding the finished frame.
He had looked proud.
I had believed we were beginning a life in which we would learn together.
That memory still existed.
So did the man sitting beside me, who had hesitated when I told him his mother had struck me.
"I was scared," he said.
"So was I."
"I didn't know what to do."
"I needed you to help me get Lily medical attention."
He nodded.
"I know."
I looked at him.
"Do you?"
He didn't respond.
I couldn't keep carrying both the fear of losing Lily and the responsibility for making Daniel understand what he had done.
So I turned back toward the doors.
The officer approached us again.
He asked Daniel to confirm what he had heard when he entered the hallway at home.
Daniel stood.
"I'll tell you what I remember."
The officer led him to a quieter area.
I watched them walk away.
I wondered whether Daniel would describe the scene accurately.
I wondered whether he would leave out Patricia's first words.
I wondered whether he would say that he had heard me accuse her of hitting me before she began calling me exhausted and confused.
I didn't want to control his statement.
I wanted him to tell the truth.
When he returned, his face was pale.
The officer continued speaking with Patricia.
She was no longer standing with her arms folded.
She had begun pacing.
Every few steps, she stopped to look toward Daniel.
I knew that look.
It was the one she used when she expected him to come to her defense.
Daniel didn't move toward her.
He sat beside me again.
"Did you tell him what I said?" I asked.
"Yes."
"All of it?"
He looked at me.
"Yes."
I nodded.
It was the smallest relief I had felt all night.
Not because his statement could save Lily.
Not because it erased his hesitation.
Because, for once, I didn't have to beg him to acknowledge what had happened.
The officer eventually spoke with me again.
He asked whether I had any messages or other information that might help establish the circumstances surrounding the incident.
I told him I had nothing that recorded the slap.
I had never imagined needing proof that a family member had hurt me.
I had never recorded arguments or saved messages in case someone later denied what they had said.
The officer explained that he would document the statements and any physical evidence available.
I understood that an investigation took time.
I also understood that I could not make the facts stronger by adding anything to them.
So I told him what I knew.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
When he left, Patricia approached us.
"Daniel, we need to go home."
He looked up at her.
"Not now."
She blinked.
"Your father is going to wonder where we are."
"My daughter is in critical condition."
"I know that."
"Then stop asking me to leave."
Patricia glanced at me.
"This is getting out of control."
I looked at her.
"You slapped me."
"I told you, I barely touched you."
Daniel stood.
"Mom, stop saying that."
The words came out more firmly than before.
Patricia stared at him.
"You weren't there when it happened."
"No," he said. "I wasn't."
"Then you don't know."
"I know what Emily told me. I know what you said when I came into the hallway."
Patricia opened her mouth.
Then she closed it.
Daniel continued.
"You said she dropped the baby before you even asked what had happened."
"I was frightened."
"So was Emily."
Patricia looked at him as though she had never heard him speak that way.
I didn't feel triumphant.
There was no satisfaction in watching a family argument unfold outside the room where doctors were trying to save my daughter.
I only felt tired.
Patricia turned toward me.
"You could have prevented all of this by staying calm."
Daniel stepped between us.
"That's enough."
She looked at him.
For a moment, I thought she might slap him too.
Instead, she gathered her bag and walked toward the waiting area.
Daniel watched her go.
Then he sat down.
"I've never seen her like this," he said.
I looked at him.
"You've seen her angry."
"Not like this."
"Because this time, someone is asking her to answer for it."
He lowered his head.
I knew that was difficult for him to hear.
It was difficult for me to say.
But I wasn't going to pretend that Patricia's anger was the problem.
Her actions were the problem.
And Daniel's habit of avoiding them had allowed her to believe she could continue.
A nurse came into the hallway carrying a clipboard.
She asked whether either of us had information about Lily's medical history.
I answered the questions as best I could.
She asked about her birth, her feeding, and whether Lily had experienced any previous injuries.
"No," I said. "Nothing like this."
Daniel confirmed that Lily had been healthy before the incident.
The nurse thanked us and returned to the treatment area.
I watched her disappear.
I wanted to ask her to stay.
I wanted to ask everyone to stay.
The thought of being left alone with my fear felt unbearable.
Daniel reached for my hand.
I let him hold it.
His palm was warm.
I remembered holding that same hand in the hospital when Lily was born.
Back then, we had both cried when we heard her first cry.
Daniel had leaned over the bed and whispered that she was perfect.
He had promised that he would always protect her.
I hadn't asked him to make that promise.
He had offered it himself.
Now he was sitting beside me, unable to tell me whether our daughter would survive.
I knew that wasn't his fault.
But what he did next would still matter.
He looked at me and said, "If she recovers, I'll make sure you and Lily are safe."
I wanted to believe him.
I also knew promises were easiest to make when a person was afraid.
"Don't promise me something because you're scared," I said.
He looked down.
"Then tell me what to do."
I thought about that.
"Start by telling the truth, even when it costs you something."
He nodded.
For once, he didn't argue.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Doctor Returned With More Information About Lily, and I Learned That Telling the Truth Would Not Make the Waiting Easier
I Thought the Worst Part of Being a New Mother Was Losing Sleep, Until My Mother-in-Law Made One Cruel Decision for Me
Part 6 of 20
