My phone buzzed in the middle of a business trip, my neighbor’s panicked voice shouting,
At the hospital, the fluorescent lights felt harsh and unforgiving. Michael sat in the waiting room, his hands trembling as he replayed every fatherly failure he could imagine. He should’ve been home. He should’ve insisted they hire a sitter. He should’ve known Jessica wasn’t paying attention the way a mother should.
A doctor finally approached him.
“Mr. Carter? Your daughter has a concussion, a fractured wrist, and some bruising, but no internal bleeding. She’s stable.”
Relief hit him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He whispered a broken “thank you,” then followed the doctor to Emma’s room.
