I called the pediatric nurse line next.
I described the nosebleed, the cheek mark, the fall, Olivia’s crying, her breathing, her alertness.
The nurse told me what to watch for and advised that Olivia be checked because she had been struck and had fallen.
Michael heard every word because I left the call on speaker until he hung up and called back separately.
This time, when his name appeared, I did not answer immediately.
I let it ring twice.
Then I picked up.
His voice was different.
“Emily,” he said. “I’m coming home.”
“No,” I said.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean you do not get to come home and turn this into a debate between your mother’s feelings and our daughter’s injury.”
He exhaled.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.”
That landed harder than I expected.
There was a long silence.
Then Michael said, “You’re right.”
