Chapter 4 - The Hospital Room
The pediatric burn unit at Children's Memorial Hospital was dead silent, save for the rhythmic, soothing beep of heart monitors echoing down the dimly lit hallway.
When Daniel and I walked into Room 412, my heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
Emma sat propped up against three oversized pillows in the center of the hospital bed. Her small body looked impossibly fragile under the stark white hospital sheets. Thick, sterile white bandages covered both of her cheeks, extending down to her jawline, leaving only her nose, eyes, and mouth exposed. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her eyelids were puffy from hours of crying.
Beside her bed sat a small stuffed bear that the nurses had given her.
"Mommy?" her tiny voice called out as soon as the door clicked open.
I ran to her side, carefully sinking onto the edge of the mattress, taking her left hand in both of mine, making sure not to touch her face or arms. "I'm right here, sweetie. Mommy is right here."
"It still feels hot," Emma whispered, tears welling up in her large brown eyes. "Like... like hot soup spilled on my face."
"I know, baby. I know," I choked out, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. "The doctors are giving you special medicine to make the hot feeling go away. You are so brave, Emma. You did everything right."
"Why did Grandpa give me that cream?" she asked, her voice trembling with an innocent, heartbreaking confusion that tore through my soul. "Did I do something bad to make him mad?"
Daniel stepped up to the other side of the bed, reaching out to stroke her hair gently. His knuckles were white, his entire body rigid with suppressed agony. "No, Emma. You did nothing wrong. Grandpa Richard is a very sick, very bad man. He lied to all of us. But he is never, ever going to come near you again. The police are looking for him right now."
Emma looked between the two of us, sensing the heavy, terrifying truth hanging in the room. "Is he going to jail?"
"Yes," Daniel said firmly, his voice steady and absolute. "He is going to prison for a very long time."
A doctor carrying a digital tablet walked into the room. Dr. Vance was a renowned pediatric plastic surgeon with a kind, reassuring face. He gestured for Daniel and me to step into the hallway for a brief update.
We stood near the nurse's station while Dr. Vance pulled up Emma's skin scans on his tablet.
"The cold water wash you performed at home saved her skin from third-degree necrosis," Dr. Vance explained, showing us the thermal images of her face. "She has sustained severe second-degree chemical burns across both cheekbones. Because of her age, her skin has a high capacity for regeneration, but she will require specialized topical treatments, silicone gel sheets, and possibly minor laser therapy over the next six months to prevent permanent scarring."
"Will she be in pain?" I asked, wiping a tear from my eye.
"We are managing her pain with intravenous medication," Dr. Vance said smoothly. "The primary concern right now is infection and psychological trauma. A child being attacked in her own home, on Christmas morning, by a family member... the emotional scars will take longer to heal than the physical ones."
"We’ll do whatever it takes," Daniel vowed. "Therapy, specialists, anything."
Dr. Vance nodded approvingly. "She can likely be discharged in three days, provided the burn sites remain clean. But I urge you—keep her environment completely stress-free."
As Dr. Vance walked away, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket. It was an incoming call from an unknown, unlisted number.
I hesitated, looking at Daniel. "Should I answer it?"
"Put it on speaker," Daniel instructed, stepping closer.
I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
May you like
Static hissed over the line for three agonizing seconds. Then, a low, smooth voice came through the speaker—a voice that sent a wave of pure ice straight down my spine.
"Hello, Clara," Richard said calmly. "I hear the little girl is in the hospital. What a tragic end to Christmas Day."
