Chapter 2 - The Assessment
A soft knock at the door interrupted the suffocating silence. Dr. Vance, the attending physician, stepped into the room with a tablet tucked under his arm. He took one look at my face—the absolute lack of emotion, the terrifying stillness in my posture—and his professional demeanor instantly tightened.
“Mrs. Hawthorne,” he began cautiously, closing the door behind him. “We’ve finished the secondary CT scans. The concussion is moderate, but the clavicular fracture is severe. She will need immobilization for at least six weeks, and we’re keeping her overnight for observation due to the risk of delayed internal bleeding.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I replied, my voice chillingly flat. “Is she cleared for discharge tomorrow morning if vitals remain stable?”
Dr. Vance hesitated. “Medically, possibly. But Mrs. Hawthorne, social services has already been notified regarding the nature of the fall. Standard protocol for injuries of this magnitude requires an investigation into the home environment.”
“Let them investigate,” I said, standing up slowly from the bedside chair. I reached down, kissing Meadow’s forehead. “I’m going to step out for a few minutes, baby. Nurse Jenkins is going to stay right here outside the door. Nobody is going to hurt you. Do you understand?”
Meadow nodded, her big brown eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Don't leave me, Mom.”
“I’m never leaving you,” I promised, my voice ringing with an ironclad vow.
I walked out of the room, motioning for Dr. Vance to follow me into the brightly lit hallway. Nurse Jenkins was stationed by the nurses' station, looking nervously between us.
“Doctor,” I said quietly, stopping near the vending machines out of earshot of the rooms. “My husband, Dennis Hawthorne, brought my daughter in and abandoned her here. He has not answered the hospital's calls. Do you know where he is?”
“The intake notes list his cell phone, but when billing tried calling an hour ago, it went straight to voicemail,” Dr. Vance replied, frowning. “Sheriff Miller was informed of an unresponsive parent situation about twenty minutes ago. Why?”
“Because he isn't at home answering calls,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. “He’s sitting in my kitchen with my sister, drinking whiskey, believing there are no consequences for breaking a child's bones.”
Dr. Vance stared at me, his eyes widening. “Mrs. Hawthorne, what are you planning to do? You need to let the Sheriff handle this—”
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“Sheriff Miller bowls with Dennis every Thursday night,” I interrupted, my tone cutting off any further argument. “If I wait for local protocol in this town, Dennis will have half his banker friends backing his alibi by morning. I’m going home.”
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