My throat burned. My stitches pulled. My heart kept hammering under the sticky monitor pads.
I turned my phone toward Ms. Reed.
There were messages from the family group chat. My text from school at 1:31 p.m.: My stomach really hurts. Can someone take me to urgent care?
Mom’s reply at 1:46 p.m.: We are busy. Stop spiraling.
My message at 2:03 p.m.: I threw up. Please.
Greg’s reply: Convenient timing.
Then, from Samantha at 2:21 p.m.: Can we stop at Best Buy? My charger is dead.
My mother had sent a thumbs-up.
Ms. Reed read the screen without touching it.
Tyler exhaled once through his nose.
Mom’s eyes snapped to mine.
“You saved those?”
I didn’t say yes.
I didn’t need to.
Daniel stepped closer to the bed.
Greg pointed at him.
“Don’t even think about making this a custody circus. He’s eighteen.”
Daniel finally looked at him.
His voice did not rise.
“You locked my son in a car while his appendix ruptured.”
Greg’s mouth moved, but nothing useful came out.
“It was five minutes,” Mom said.
Tyler looked up from the chart.
“The store receipt says twenty-eight.”
That landed harder than any shout.
