“Claire agreed to it” – and I hadn’t heard a word
I’d spent years brushing off my family’s behavior – the comments, the criticism, the “we’re just trying to help” routine.
But this was different.
This was my child. And someone else had made a medical decision for her.
The doctor walked in a few minutes later and said, almost casually:
“We just need your approval to continue the treatment Claire agreed to.”
My hands shook. Emma watched my face like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
I hadn’t even heard the treatment plan yet.
So I took a breath and asked the doctor to explain everything from the beginning.
He glanced at Claire, who shifted by the door, and then said:
“Claire said you were unreachable. Your daughter had a mild seizure caused by dehydration and stress. We started IV fluids and monitoring. There was also an option for a mild sedative to keep her calm, which Claire approved.”
I pulled out my phone.
Three missed calls from the school nurse. Two from the ER. All of them either answered or returned.
Claire hadn’t tried to contact me once.
“She’s my daughter,” I said quietly but clearly. “I’m here now. From this point forward, no one makes decisions without me.”
Claire huffed like I was overreacting.
“I was trying to help. You’re always overwhelmed. I figured—”
“No,” I cut in. “You figured you knew best.”
Emma squeezed my hand. That was the only confirmation I needed.
Continue reading on the next page 👇
