I told her that Chloe was in the ICU. The silence that followed was absolute. Before Brenda could respond, I hung up. I didn’t want to hear another lie from either of them.

Dr. Miller walked back toward me. His face was pale. He was holding a clipboard with a yellow consent form.

He explained that the clinic had done the procedure incorrectly. They had left tissue behind, causing an infection that had been smoldering for weeks. The impact of the car crash had ruptured the abscess. If they didn’t operate within the hour, she could go into septic shock.

My hands were wet with sweat. I grabbed the pen from his hand and signed the consent form.

I was left alone in the waiting room.

I sat on the hard vinyl chairs. The clock on the wall ticked.

5:00 AM.

5:30 AM.

6:15 AM.

The sun started to rise, casting a pale orange light through the window. I stared at Chloe’s pink bunny keychain. I felt a burning wave of guilt. How did I miss her pain? How did I let her think she couldn’t trust me?

The doors to the waiting room swung open at 8 AM. I expected the doctor. Instead, it was David and Brenda.

David was wearing a wrinkled polo shirt. Brenda had her designer sunglasses pushed up on her head, clutching her leather purse like a shield. They walked toward me, demanding to know where she was.

I didn’t stand up. I told them not to call her their daughter.

Brenda stepped ahead of David, raising her voice. She claimed they had a right to be here because they were the ones who helped her when she had nobody else.

Just then, Dr. Miller walked out of the double doors. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were clear.

He announced that the surgery was successful. They had removed the infection, and she was going to be fine.