Part 7
The two hours stretched into three.
Every tick of the large clock on the waiting room wall felt like a physical blow. I didn't go to the cafeteria. I couldn't eat. I just paced the perimeter of the small room, watching the sunrise filter through the heavy glass windows, painting the city outside in shades of cold orange and grey.
When the double doors finally pushed open, Dr. Caldwell emerged.
He was pulling off his surgical mask, his face lined with deep exhaustion, but the small lift at the corner of his mouth told me everything I needed to know before he even spoke.
"She did beautifully," he said, walking over to join me. "The bone quality was good enough that I was able to use a slightly larger titanium anchor to secure the graft. It's actually more secure now than it was after the first surgery."
I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding since the night before. "Thank god."
"She’s in the recovery unit right now, waking up from the anesthesia," he continued, leading me back toward the pediatric wing. "The next forty-eight hours are crucial for pain management, but structurally, the knee is stable again. We’ve put her in a full-leg immobilizer cast this time. No one is getting that off without a saw."
A grim smile touched my lips. "Good."
As we approached Mia's room, I noticed two people standing outside the door. One was Detective Avery. The other was a man in a sharp grey suit carrying a briefcase—someone who looked entirely too expensive for a public hospital.
"What is this?" I asked, my defenses immediately flaring up.
Detective Avery stepped forward. "This is Mr. Vance from the District Attorney's office. He’s the prosecutor assigned to your sister’s case."
The man in the suit offered his hand. "Good morning. I know you’ve had a horrific night, but I needed to speak with you immediately. Your father has already retained one of the top defense attorneys in the state for Caroline. They are trying to fast-track an emergency bail hearing this morning."
My blood ran cold. "They’re trying to get her out?"
"Of course they are," Mr. Vance said, his tone professional but sharp. "Your sister’s attorney is arguing that she has no prior criminal record, is a prominent member of the community, and that this was a 'tragic domestic accident' magnified by an overzealous medical professional." He nodded toward Dr. Caldwell.
"It wasn't an accident," I said, my voice rising.
"I know that," Mr. Vance said reassuringly. "And Dr. Caldwell's medical report makes that very clear. But to ensure the judge denies bail or sets it at an amount that forces her to remain custody until the arraignment, I need your formal affidavit detailing the history of the family dynamic. I need to show the judge that Caroline has a history of reckless behavior and that returning her to the community presents a danger to the victim."
"A history?" I whispered.
"The way they treat you," Detective Avery clarified, stepping in. "The way they minimize things. We need to establish a pattern of behavior. If we can show that Caroline has always acted with this kind of malicious entitlement, the judge will see that she isn't a safe person to release while Mia is recovering."
I looked through the glass window of the room. Mia was there, her eyes fluttering open, a nurse gently wiping her brow. She looked so tiny against the stark white sheets, her leg encased in a heavy, black immobilizer.
May you like
I turned back to the prosecutor. "Get your notepad. I’ll tell you everything. I'll tell you about every time they told me I was crazy, every time Caroline hurt someone and they laughed it off, and every single thing they did to make us feel small."
Mr. Vance smiled, a cold, satisfied expression. "That’s exactly what I need."
