Chapter 3 - The pediatrician
I called Eli’s pediatrician.
They told me to bring him in.
Simone wanted to come.
I said no.
She called her lawyer before we left.
I knew because she told me.
That made my skin crawl even though, objectively, obtaining counsel was sensible.
Eli sat beside me in the car.
Sleeves pulled down.
I did not ask him to roll them up again.
At the clinic, Dr. Alicia Moran examined him privately for part of the visit.
I agreed.
Good.
She documented:
Several resolving bruises on both upper arms.
One newer bruise near the right elbow.
No fracture.
No acute head injury.
No significant abdominal injury.
No evidence of sexual abuse.
No signs of severe malnutrition.
He was physically healthy overall.
That mattered.
Reality did not need exaggeration.
Dr. Moran asked whether Eli felt safe at home.
He looked toward me.
Then:
“When Dad’s there.”
The room changed.
She asked:
“What happens when Dad isn’t?”
Eli whispered:
“Rules.”
“What kinds of rules?”
Silence.
“Does anyone hurt you?”
Another silence.
Then:
“She grabs.”
There.
“Who?”
“Simone.”
“Where?”
He pointed to his upper arm.
“Anything else?”
“She pushes sometimes.”
“Where?”
“Room. Hallway.”
“Has she hit you?”
“No.”
Important.
No invented beating.
“Used an object to hurt you?”
“No.”
“Locked you somewhere?”
He hesitated.
“My room.”
“Locked from outside?”
“No.”
“Could you leave?”
“She stands there.”
There.
Control without a literal lock.
Dr. Moran explained to me that she was making a mandated report.
Child protective services.
I nodded.
Eli looked terrified.
“Will they take me?”
“No one is deciding that right now,” she said.
Better than my instinctive:
Absolutely not.
She knew systems.
May you like
I knew promises.
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