Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 60978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
It didn’t take long for Lily’s eyes to drift closed. Her breathing evened out until I knew she slept.
As I stood to leave, I found myself studying her more carefully. The bruises on her thin arms were numerous, in various stages of healing. Some were clearly fingermarks, others more amorphous. The cast on her right arm was bright pink, a cheerful color at odds with the injury it protected. Despite these signs of potential abuse, her behavior puzzled me. She’d watched me with open curiosity rather than fear, didn’t flinch when I moved, seemed comfortable with my presence despite my intimidating appearance.
Most abuse victims I had known, including myself once upon a time, developed a second natured wariness. Lily displayed none of these behaviors. It created an inconsistency I couldn’t quite resolve.
My protective instincts stirred. Why did Lily have no one with her? Maybe the abuse she suffered came from negligence. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d read a situation wrong, but it still didn’t feel right.
I needed to leave and tell Lily’s nurse so someone could come sit with the child. I was a convicted felon on parole. I had no business being in this room even with the door wide open and bathroom light on. Whatever was happening with Lily and her mother was for social workers and doctors to handle, not an ex-con with a mop.
Yet as I rose from the chair, careful not to wake her, I knew I’d check on her later.
I backed quietly from the room, my calloused fingers lingering briefly on the door frame as I looked back at the sleeping child. Her face was peaceful now, the pain and fear temporarily banished by exhaustion and perhaps the comfort of an unexpected lullaby.
Chapter Two
Cash
Two Nights Later
I returned to the pediatric ward, my mind still lingering on the small girl with the pink cast. The mop bucket rattled ahead of me as I pushed it down the corridor, the wheels squeaking against the polished floor. I had finished my assigned section early, giving me a few minutes to check on Lily. I told myself it was just curiosity, nothing more, but the memory of her tears had stuck with me through my shift at the bar last night. As I approached her room, I heard raised voices from inside, the sharp tone of an adult argument cutting through the usual hospital quiet.
I slowed my steps, not wanting to intrude on whatever was happening. The hospital had strict rules about patient privacy, and I was already walking a thin line by visiting a patient outside my cleaning duties. But when I recognized Lily’s small voice rising between the adult voices, I found myself moving forward again.
The door to room 416 stood partially open. I paused just outside, my hand resting on the door frame. Inside, two women faced off across Lily’s bed. One was clearly Lily’s mother, small and slight with the same delicate features as her daughter, though hers were drawn tight with exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her brown hair was pulled back in a messy knot looking like it had been hastily arranged. Despite her obvious fatigue, her stance was defiant, her chin raised as she glared at the other woman.
The second woman wore a crisp pantsuit and carried a tablet she occasionally tapped. Her hair was styled in a severe bob, framing her face. She wore a lanyard with an ID badge reading “Department of Child Services” and “Mrs. Janet Winters.” My stomach dropped at the sight. I had seen enough of them at Haven to know the conversation couldn’t be good.
“I have told Dr. Samson repeatedly. Lily bruises easily,” the mother was saying, her voice tight with controlled frustration. “I’ve been begging for more tests for over a year. But insurance keeps denying the claims, and Dr. Samson says the symptoms aren’t severe enough to warrant specialist referrals.”
“Ms. Jans,” the social worker replied, her voice clinical and detached, “this is Lily’s fourth hospital visit in eight months. The pattern of injuries is concerning. These bruises” -- she gestured toward Lily with her pen --”are consistent with grab marks.”
“Because I have to grab her when she falls,” Lily’s mother -- Ms. Jans -- said, her voice cracking slightly. “She falls constantly. She trips over nothing. Her legs just give out sometimes. If I don’t grab her and she hits something, she could get hurt worse.” She rubbed a hand across her face. “I work two jobs. I can’t afford the tests Dr. Samson won’t order. I’ve researched online, I think she might have --”
“Self-diagnosis from Internet searches is hardly reliable,” the social worker cut in, writing something on her clipboard. “The fact remains Lily presents with multiple unexplained injuries.”
“They’re not unexplained,” Ms. Jans insisted, her small hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I’ve explained them every single time.”