Chapter 2 - What My Mother Wouldn't Say
"What is she talking about?"
The front door slammed.
Emma was still crying against my shoulder.
I looked at my mother.
"Mom. What did Lauren mean?"
My mother busied herself with the serving spoons.
"She's upset. You know how your sister gets."
"That's not an answer."
James took Emma's diaper bag from beside the couch.
"Sarah, we should get her checked."
I nodded.
But I couldn't stop looking at my mother.
"Did you tell Lauren to hit my daughter?"
Her head snapped up.
"Of course not!"
"Then what did you tell her?"
My father stepped toward us.
"Sarah, sweetheart, let's not turn this into something bigger—"
"Something bigger?"
I almost laughed.
"My sister just slapped a baby at your dinner table, and none of you said a word."
Uncle Peter lowered his eyes.
My mother pressed her lips together.
"I said you were exhausted and needed help. That's all."
"Help with what?"
"With Emma being so demanding."
James stopped packing.
"Demanding?"
My mother looked uncomfortable.
"She's always crying when we're together."
"She's six months old," he replied.
"I know how old she is, James."
"Then why are we discussing her crying like it's a character flaw?"
My mother didn't answer.
I was suddenly aware of every time she'd told me to let Emma cry longer.
Every time Lauren had complained that I held her too much.
Every time someone told me I was making motherhood harder than it needed to be.
I had brushed those comments aside because they were family.
I wouldn't make that mistake again.
"Give me her blanket," I told James.
He wrapped it around Emma while I kept her tucked safely against me.
My father followed us outside.
"Sarah, please. Don't leave like this."
I turned.
"How would you like me to leave, Dad?"
He looked miserable.
"I know what Lauren did was wrong."
"Then why didn't you say that when she did it?"
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
James opened the passenger door.
"We're going to the emergency department. I'll text you when we know she's okay."
My father touched my arm.
"Can I come?"
I looked at him for a long second.
"You can meet us there. But don't come if you're planning to make excuses for her."
He nodded.
We drove away beneath strings of Christmas lights.
Inside the car, Emma finally stopped screaming.
She made a small, frightened sound whenever I shifted her.
I couldn't stop crying.
James kept glancing over from the driver's seat.
"Sarah."
"I should've stopped her."
"You told her no."
"I saw her reaching."
"You couldn't have known she'd hit Emma."
"But I knew she was angry."
James reached across the console and squeezed my hand.
"Listen to me. Lauren made that choice. Not you."
I wiped my face.
"I've spent my entire life letting her get away with things."
James didn't disagree.
That hurt more than I expected.
At the hospital, a pediatric emergency physician examined Emma carefully.
She checked her face, eyes, ears, and responses. She asked what happened, how Emma reacted, and whether she'd eaten normally afterward.
Fortunately, the doctor found no visible injury or alarming symptoms.
She explained what changes would require immediate medical attention and told us to continue watching Emma closely.
Then she asked whether we'd like the incident documented.
"Yes," I said immediately.
James looked at me.
It was the first decision I'd made that night without looking for somebody else's approval.
The doctor nodded.
While she completed her notes, my phone buzzed.
Mom.
I expected an apology.
Instead, I read:
Please don't tell strangers what Lauren did. She's already having a hard year, and you know how these things get blown out of proportion.
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
Family problems should stay inside the family.
I handed James the phone.
His jaw tightened.
"Sarah, you don't have to protect your sister from the consequences of hitting Emma."
"I know."
But the truth was, I wasn't sure I did.
Because all my life, protecting Lauren had been the price of keeping peace with my mother.
Then another message arrived.
May you like
This one was worse.
If you involve the police, don't expect me to choose sides.
