ADVERTISEMENT
Dr. Rogers peered into her right ear. He hummed, adjusted the angle, and then stopped. His body went still. He pulled back, frowned, and then reached for a different instrument—a digital otoscope with a screen.
“I want to get a better look at this,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “And I want you to see it too, Mom.”
“Do you see that?” Dr. Rogers pointed a pen at the screen.
I squinted. Deep inside the canal, near the eardrum, was a dark, foreign shape. It glinted under the light of the camera.
“What is that?” I whispered, a cold dread washing over me.
“That,” Dr. Rogers said grimly, “is a piece of metal. It looks like the broken post of an earring, or perhaps a clasp.”
“An earring?” I stared at him. “Emma doesn’t have pierced ears.”
Dr. Rogers turned to look at me. His face was grave. “Mrs. Parker, this object is lodged deep. Very deep. Gravity didn’t do this. A child scratching didn’t do this. This object was inserted with force.”
The room spun.
“Inserted?” I choked out.
My knees gave out, and I had to grab the exam table for support. The puzzle pieces slammed together with the force of a car crash. The fear. The withdrawal. The way Emma froze when Betty touched her.
“Emma,” I said, my voice shaking so hard I could barely speak. I turned to my daughter. “Honey, look at me. Did someone put that in your ear?”
Emma looked at the screen, then at me. Her lip quivered. Tears spilled over her cheeks.
“I can’t say,” she whispered. “I promised.”
“Promised who?” I pleaded. “Mommy is here. I will protect you.”
“I’ll get in trouble,” she sobbed. “She said… she said I’m a bad girl.”
“Dr. Rogers,” I said, turning to the doctor, tears streaming down my own face. “Please get it out.”
“Do it,” I said ferociously. “Call them. But get that thing out of my daughter first.”
He extracted the metal shard. It clinked into the metal tray—a jagged, sharp piece of cheap jewelry. The relief on Emma’s face was instant, followed by exhaustion.
“We need to be careful,” Dr. Rogers warned me as I prepared to leave. “If the abuser is in the home, you cannot go back there without a plan. The police will be contacted.”
“I know who it is,” I said, my voice cold as the Michigan winter. “And I’m going to make sure she never touches my daughter again.”
I drove home with a singular, terrifying clarity. I couldn’t confront Betty yet. Not without Brian on my side, and Brian wouldn’t believe the word of a doctor over the saintly image of his mother. I needed him to see it. I needed him to hear it.
“Emma,” I said as we pulled into the driveway. “You are going to your room, and you are going to lock the door. You do not open it for Grandma. Do you understand? I will bring you food. I will be right there.”
She nodded, clutching her ear.
Betty was waiting. Of course she was.
“Well?” she asked, looking at Emma’s bandaged ear. “What did the doctor say?”
I looked at this woman—this monster in a cardigan—and summoned every ounce of acting ability I possessed.
“It was an infection,” I lied. “Severe swimmer’s ear. He prescribed heavy antibiotics.”
Betty’s shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. “Oh, poor thing. Well, go rest, Emma.”
I ushered Emma upstairs, settled her in, and locked her door from the inside, keeping the key in my pocket.
That night, when Brian came home, I pulled him into the garage. The air was freezing, our breath pluming in the dark.
“It was a piece of metal, Brian,” I hissed. “Someone shoved a metal spike into her ear canal.”
He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “What? That’s insane. Did she put it in herself?”
“She’s seven! And she’s terrified! She said she ‘promised’ not to tell because she’d get in trouble.” I grabbed his lapels. “Brian, wake up! Your mother is hurting her!”
Continue READING
ADVERTISEMENT
