Grandma stayed beside me until the nurse returned.
My aunt was standing near the reception desk, holding a small piece of paper with the doctor's instructions.
I was still holding Lily.
The broken doll had become something familiar in a place where everything else felt strange.
The nurse pulled a chair closer.
"How are you feeling now?"
I shrugged.
"Better."
She smiled gently.
"That's good. Do you feel safe here?"
I looked at Grandma.
She nodded.
I thought about the question.
Then I whispered, "Yes."
The nurse wrote something down.
She didn't make a big deal out of my answer.
She simply thanked me.
That made it easier to keep talking.
A little later, the doctor returned.
He explained that my injuries needed proper attention and that I would need follow-up care.
Grandma listened to every word.
She asked about the bandages.
She asked whether the bruising needed additional examination.
She asked what signs we should watch for.
My aunt wrote everything down.
I watched them.
Nobody seemed interested in getting home quickly.
Nobody complained about the time.
It was strange.
At my father's house, everything had to happen according to his schedule.
Dinner.
Visitors.
Photographs.
Even my feelings.
Here, nobody seemed to mind that I needed time.
When the doctor finished, Grandma asked whether there was someone we could speak with about keeping me safe.
The doctor explained the appropriate safeguarding process.
My aunt nodded.
Grandma looked at me.
"You don't have to worry about these conversations. The adults will handle them."
I held Lily closer.
"Will I have to see Dad?"
Grandma didn't give me a promise she couldn't keep.
"We'll make sure you have the support you need."
I appreciated that.
A few minutes later, my aunt received another call.
She stepped into the hallway.
I heard Dad's voice through the phone.
He was speaking loudly enough for me to recognize him.
"Where are you?"
My aunt lowered her voice.
"We're still at the clinic."
"Why?"
"Because she needed to be examined."
"She was fine when I last saw her."
My aunt didn't answer immediately.
Then she said something that made me look up.
"She wasn't fine."
Dad started talking again.
My aunt walked farther down the hallway.
I couldn't hear the rest.
Grandma noticed me listening.
"Would you like some water?"
I nodded.
She handed me a cup.
I drank slowly.
The phone call ended.
My aunt returned.
Her expression was different.
"He's asking when we're coming back."
Grandma shook her head.
"We'll decide after we speak with the appropriate people."
My aunt nodded.
Then she sat beside me.
"Do you remember what happened before you got those bandages?"
I stared at the doll.
I remembered pieces.
Not everything came in the right order.
There had been a frightening moment.
There had been pain.
There had been Dad telling me not to make things worse.
And afterward, there had been the bandages.
I didn't know how to explain all of it.
"I remember some things."
My aunt gently touched my shoulder.
"That's enough for now."
Grandma looked toward the doctor.
She wanted the situation documented properly.
She didn't want anyone guessing.
She didn't want anyone deciding that my injuries were unimportant because I was young.
I understood very little about the adults' conversations.
But I understood one thing.
They were finally taking me seriously.
Later, Grandma received another message.
She read it quietly.
Then she put her phone away.
I asked whether Dad had sent it.
She nodded.
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He's upset."
I looked down.
"Because I left?"
Grandma shook her head.
"His feelings are his responsibility, sweetheart."
I had never thought about it that way.
I had spent so much time trying to keep him happy that I had forgotten adults could be responsible for their own feelings.
Grandma leaned back in her chair.
"We're going to make sure the next decisions are made carefully."
I nodded.
Then I looked at Lily.
"Can we fix her arm tonight?"
Grandma smiled.
"We can find someone who knows how to repair dolls."
I held her a little less tightly.
For the first time since the party, I was thinking about something other than my injuries.
It was a small thing.
But it mattered.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: My Father Kept Calling, but Grandma Would Not Let His Birthday Become More Important Than the Truth About What Had Happened to Me
My Father Wanted a Perfect Birthday Photograph, but He Had Forgotten That One Person in the Room Always Noticed the Things Everyone Else Ignored
Part 5 of 20
