“No.”
Mike said nothing.
She looked at me.
“You don’t have a job.”
“I never told you that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.
You decided it.”
She shook her head so hard that one pearl earring swung against her neck.
“My son said you didn’t discuss your work.”
“That’s true.”
“You stayed home sometimes.”
“Yes.”
“You never corrected me.”
That accusation almost amazed me more than the rest.
“You called me useless at my own dinner table,” I said.
“You told people I was living off your son.
You never once asked what I did.
You preferred the version of me that made you feel superior.”
Her eyes went toward Mike again, searching for some sign that this was a prank.
Instead, another nurse entered carrying two flower arrangements that had been moved from the room earlier.
She stopped when she saw security.
One arrangement held the card from the District Attorney’s Office.
The other had come from the state Supreme Court.
Mrs.
Sterling stared at the flowers.
I saw understanding finally begin to land.
Then the physician entered, and the room became clinical again.
He examined my incision first.
The impact against the bed had aggravated the wound, but there was no catastrophic reopening.
My face was photographed for my chart.
The swelling at my lip was documented.
So was the mark beginning to rise along my cheek.
I told the staff exactly what had happened.
No embellishment.
No courtroom voice.
Just facts.
Mrs.
Sterling interrupted constantly.
“She lunged at me.”
“She was drugged.”
“She told me I could hold the baby.”
“The papers were only a discussion.”
Each new version contradicted the previous one.
Mike finally asked one of the guards to escort her into the corridor.
She resisted immediately.
“You are not removing me from my grandchildren.”
“They are not your children,” I said.
She turned on me.
“You ungrateful little—”
Mike stepped between us.
“Enough.”
The doors closed behind her.
For the first time since she had entered, the room became quiet.
I looked down at Leo.
His tiny fingers were curled against my gown.
