Thomas stepped forward.
“This is getting twisted.”
Nobody answered him.
He looked at me.
“Mom, tell them he cries like that all the time.”
I felt something inside me settle.
For sixty-four years, I had thought motherhood meant stepping between your child and whatever threatened him.
I had never imagined the day would come when motherhood meant refusing to step between my child and the truth.
“He does not cry like that all the time,” I said.
Thomas stared at me.
I kept going.
“You told me not to remove his onesie.”
“I told you we had just gotten him settled.”
“No. You specifically told me not to take it off.”
His jaw tightened.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
The triage nurse spoke quietly to the pediatrician, and Mason was taken back for a more complete examination.
I followed until a staff member asked Thomas and Ellie to wait.
Thomas immediately protested.
