Patricia approached me after the officer left.
She stood in front of my chair, holding her handbag against her side.
"Emily, I want to talk."
I looked up.
"About what?"
She glanced at Daniel.
"Privately."
I shook my head.
"I'm not leaving this hallway."
Her expression tightened.
"Then listen to me here."
I waited.
She seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
That was unusual.
Patricia usually spoke as soon as a thought entered her mind.
She expected other people to adjust to whatever she said.
Now she looked as if every sentence might have a consequence.
"I never wanted Lily to get hurt."
I stared at her.
I believed that she might not have wanted this outcome.
But that wasn't the same as taking responsibility for what she had done.
"You hit me while I was holding her."
Patricia looked down.
"I was angry."
I waited for her to say more.
She didn't.
I felt a bitter kind of disappointment.
For a moment, I had hoped she might finally acknowledge the act itself.
Instead, she had offered an emotion.
Anger.
As if anger were an explanation that ended the conversation.
"I was angry too," I said. "I was frightened. I was exhausted. I didn't hit you."
She looked up sharply.
"I said I didn't want her hurt."
"And I heard you."
My voice remained quiet.
"But I need you to understand that what happened wasn't just bad luck."
Patricia's fingers tightened around the handbag strap.
She glanced toward the emergency room doors.
Then she looked back at me.
"What do you want me to do?"
I almost laughed, but there was no humor in me.
I wanted my daughter safe.
I wanted to go back to the beginning of the night and never enter that hallway.
I wanted to wake up in a world where Patricia had not raised her hand and Lily had never hit the floor.
None of those things was possible.
"I want you to stop asking me to lie."
She looked offended.
"I never asked you to lie."
I stared at her.
"You told me to say it was an accident."
"It was an accident that she fell."
"That doesn't erase what happened before she fell."
Patricia's mouth opened, then closed.
She had no answer that could make those two facts separate.
I looked away.
I didn't want to spend the night arguing with her.
I didn't want to become distracted by her attempts to defend herself.
My daughter was still in the hospital.
That was where my attention belonged.
Patricia sat down in the chair across from me.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
I watched the doors.
She watched the floor.
Daniel remained between us, physically close enough to hear everything but emotionally somewhere I couldn't reach.
Eventually, he turned toward his mother.
"Mom, you need to give Emily some space."
Patricia stared at him.
"You're taking her side?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"I'm asking you to stop."
She looked as if she wanted to argue.
Then she stood and walked away.
Daniel watched her go.
I turned toward him.
"Why did you wait until now?"
He looked at me.
"I should have said it earlier."
"Yes."
He nodded.
I appreciated that he didn't try to excuse himself.
But his acknowledgment couldn't undo what had happened.
I had spent the night learning how much damage could be done in a few seconds.
It would take longer than a few seconds to repair the trust that had been damaged too.
Daniel leaned back in his chair.
"I don't know what to do."
I looked at my hands.
"Neither do I."
That was the truth.
I didn't know how to be Lily's mother while she was receiving emergency treatment behind closed doors.
I didn't know how to be Daniel's wife when I wasn't sure whether he would stand beside me when it mattered.
I didn't know how to face Patricia again.
I didn't know what the police would decide after hearing everyone's account.
There were too many unknowns.
For once, I didn't try to solve them all.
I concentrated on the next breath.
Then the next.
A nurse passed us with a clipboard.
I watched her go.
Daniel reached into his pocket and took out his phone.
He looked at the screen for a moment, then put it away without making a call.
I wondered whether he was thinking about the house.
The hallway.
The bottle on the counter.
The little blanket in the car.
Perhaps he was thinking about all the things we had assumed we would do the next morning.
I couldn't ask him to explain his thoughts.
I had enough of my own.
Patricia returned after a while.
She didn't approach me.
She sat several chairs away, her handbag on her lap.
Her face looked tired.
I felt no satisfaction at seeing her uncomfortable.
I didn't want her to suffer.
I wanted her to understand that she had hurt someone and that the harm could not be erased by asking the injured person to stay quiet.
Those were different things.
I had finally learned to separate them.
Dr. Blake still hadn't given us the news I needed.
I knew he couldn't promise a good outcome.
I knew he was responsible for caring for Lily, not for easing every fear in my mind.
But I kept hoping he would return.
I imagined him telling me that my daughter had responded to treatment.
I imagined being allowed to see her.
I imagined touching her little hand.
Then I forced myself to stop.
I didn't want to turn hope into a promise no one had made.
I could hope.
I could pray.
I could wait.
And I could keep telling the truth.
That was all I had left to do.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: I Had No Promise That My Daughter Would Recover, Only the Truth About How She Was Hurt and the Need to Hold On to It
The Night I Learned That Keeping the Peace Could Cost More Than I Was Willing to Lose
Part 11 of 24
