Michael showed up late, annoyed.
“See? We’ve been sitting here forever for nothing,” he muttered.
I said nothing.
I was too afraid.
Finally, the doctor walked in.
His face was serious.
Too serious.
He held a folder in his hands and looked directly at me.
“Mr. and Mrs. Carter… we have Emily’s results.”
Then he paused.
A long, heavy pause.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. What he said next changed everything.
“Emily is suffering from severe malnutrition.”
The words didn’t make sense at first.
Malnutrition?
My daughter?
“How is that possible?” I whispered.
Michael let out a nervous laugh.
“That can’t be right. She eats. Maybe just one of those teenage diets—”
The doctor raised his hand, stopping him.
“This is not a diet. Her electrolytes are dangerously low. She’s lost significant muscle mass, and her heart is under stress.”
“This has been happening for months.”
I felt like the ground disappeared beneath me.
Months.
How had I missed it?
Or worse…
How had I ignored it?
The doctor looked at both of us carefully.
“We spoke with Emily. She gave us permission to share this.”
He took a breath.
“She has been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa.”
The room spun.
Anorexia.
Not a cold.
Not drama.
A silent cry for help.