A composed voice replied with clinical politeness that carried unmistakable urgency beneath its calm surface.
“Ma’am, this is Riverside Memorial Hospital Emergency Department. Your daughter, Keira, is here with us. She is stable, but we need you to come in right away.”
Confusion arrived before fear could form, because Keira had been spending Christmas Eve at my mother in law’s house. Pamela had insisted that no child should spend the holiday evening without extended family, especially when her mother appeared obsessed with overtime and responsibilities. I had argued, then surrendered, not because Pamela was correct, but because my husband’s injury had drained every ounce of my emotional strength.
I swallowed carefully. “Why is my daughter in the emergency department?”
The pause lasted only a second, yet dread expanded violently inside my ribs.
“We have concerns regarding her safety. Please come as soon as possible.”
I did not cry. Years in emergency care had taught me that panic never saved anyone. Action always did.