When she answered, her voice sounded light and almost festive. “Hi, sweetheart, I cannot talk long because I am packing,” she said, and I could hear the rustle of clothing and the click of suitcase wheels behind her.
“Mom, I was in a car accident,” I told her, forcing my voice to stay steady even as my body throbbed. “I am in the hospital with a broken pelvis, and I need you to take Owen tonight because Jacob cannot get here until tomorrow.”
There was a pause that felt stretched and deliberate before she sighed in a way that was painfully familiar. “Melissa, I really cannot do this right now because I have plans,” she replied, as though I had asked her to water a plant rather than care for her grandson.
“I cannot even stand up, and he is only six weeks old,” I whispered, gripping the hospital sheet while the heart monitor beside me beeped in nervous rhythm.
“Your sister never has these emergencies,” she snapped, and the sharpness in her tone cut deeper than any physical injury. “Lauren manages her life without chaos, but you always seem to bring drama into everything.”