—“We need to transfer him to a larger hospital. This could be causing a partial blockage. And if that object opens or ruptures… it could become very serious.”
—“Opens?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
He held my gaze.
—“I mean this doesn’t look like something a child accidentally swallowed while playing. It’s too deep. And because of that… I need to ask you something difficult.”
I nodded, barely feeling my body.
—“Has your son been alone with anyone who might have forced him to swallow something?”
It felt like something slammed into my chest.
One name flashed through my mind.
Mark.
Mark insisting on taking Ethan out for “guy time.”
Mark closing the study door when they talked.
Mark getting irritated every time I suggested a doctor.
Mark saying, coldly, that he wouldn’t waste money on “just a stomach ache.”
My hands went ice cold.
—“I… I don’t know,” I stammered. “His father spends time with him, but he would never—”
I couldn’t finish.
Because something inside me already feared the worst.
Everything moved fast after that.
The doctor called the hospital.
Words I barely understood:
Obstruction.
Foreign body.
Risk.
Urgent surgical evaluation.
We were rushed in an ambulance.