She said she had just gotten dizzy.
She said it like she was apologizing.
That broke something in me.
Children should not apologize for being sick.
They should not have to measure their pain against a parent’s mood.
By Wednesday night, I had already started looking up clinics on my phone with the screen dimmed under the blanket.
I checked our insurance card in Robert’s wallet while he was in the shower.
I hated that I had to do it like that.
I hated that protecting my daughter felt like sneaking around.
But fear has a way of making you practical fast.
At 2:18 a.m. Thursday, I heard the sound from Maya’s room.
It was not a scream.
It was worse because it sounded like she was trying not to make noise at all.
I opened the door and found her curled on her side, arms wrapped around her stomach, hoodie sleeve bitten between her teeth.
