Chapter 11 - Mommy on the Other Side of Glass
I took her to the hospital on a Thursday afternoon after school. She'd worn the red dress again but she'd left the bow on my dresser. I noticed it when I helped her into the booster seat I'd bought the week before.
"You want to bring it?" I asked.
She shook her head. She held the little stuffed rabbit the nurse had given her at the children's home instead, squeezing it tight against her stomach. "Mommy likes my hair down," she said.
On the drive over I explained what the caseworker had told me to say. That Mommy was getting help. That we would see her in a family room with other people there. That if she wanted to leave at any time we could leave. She listened with her eyes on the window, breathing slow through her mouth.
"What if she looks different?" she asked when we turned into the hospital parking lot.
"She might," I said. "She's been sick."
She nodded like that was enough.
The family visiting room wasn't what I expected. It wasn't white or cold. It was a square room on the second floor with pale yellow walls, a low table, plastic bins of toys pushed against the wall, and two big windows that let in that same soft daylight from the children's home. A staff member in navy scrubs stood by the door with a clipboard. The caseworker was already there, talking quietly with a nurse near the coffee machine.
Elena was sitting on the small couch against the far wall. Her hair was pulled back, her face thinner than I remembered, no makeup, wearing a hospital sweatshirt and jeans. Her hands were folded in her lap and I could see they were shaking a little. When we walked in she looked up and her eyes filled immediately.
The girl stopped just inside the doorway. She was still holding the rabbit. For a second nobody moved. I felt her small hand go tight around two of my fingers.
Elena didn't get up right away. She stayed seated and opened her hands a little. "Hi, baby," she said, her voice low and rough.
The girl stared. Her lower lip trembled. Then something broke and she ran. She crossed the room in three steps and climbed right onto Elena's lap, rabbit and all, and Elena folded forward around her with a sound I hadn't heard from her before. It wasn't crying, it was air leaving her chest like she'd been holding it for months.
I stepped back toward the wall and let the caseworker and the nurse have their sight lines. The staff member by the door made a small note and didn't interrupt.
"I'm sorry," Elena whispered into her daughter's hair. Her hand smoothed over the girl's dark curls, over and over. "I'm so sorry I left you, baby. I didn't want to. I was sick and I didn't know how to get safe."
The girl's face was pressed into Elena's shoulder. "You didn't come back," she said. It wasn't accusing. It was just a fact she'd carried.
"I know," Elena said. "The people at the children's home kept you safe when I couldn't. That was the only good choice I had. I'm getting help now so I can make better ones."
She looked up at me over the girl's head for a second. I nodded once. I didn't trust my voice yet.
The girl pulled back just enough to look at her mother's face. She touched Elena's cheek with her small palm. The small mark above her left eyebrow caught the light.
"Is Daddy staying?" she asked. She didn't look at me when she said it. She kept her eyes on Elena like she was asking permission.
Elena's eyes filled again but she smiled and tucked the girl's hair behind her ear. "Yeah, baby. He's your daddy. Mr. Vitari. I showed you his picture because I wanted you to know him. I wanted you to know where your pretty eyes came from."
The girl glanced at me then, quick, then back at Elena. "He bought me nuggets and let me sleep in the red dress."
Elena laughed, a real laugh that cracked halfway. "He better have," she said, and looked at me. "Thank you," she mouthed.
We stayed for twenty minutes. Elena let her daughter show her the rabbit, explain how the booster seat worked, and count the tiles on the ceiling. She answered every question in that small voice, steady, not making promises she couldn't keep. When the nurse stepped forward and touched Elena's shoulder, Elena kissed the top of her daughter's head and said, "I have to stay here a little longer to get all better. But I'll see you again soon, right here. And Daddy will be with you."
The girl nodded and slid down. She walked back to me and took my hand again. She didn't cry.
In the hallway the caseworker spoke quietly while Elena was walked back by staff. She said what I'd already seen: the bond was clear and appropriate, Elena was engaged and remorseful, the girl was reassured. And then she said the part that mattered for the paper in my pocket.
"Clinically she's stable, Mr. Vitari. But medically she cannot resume custody for months. She needs residential treatment and then outpatient. The interim plan will have to continue."
I looked down at the girl. She was holding the rabbit and watching the elevator doors.
"I understand," I said.
In the parking lot she asked if Mommy was still sick.
"She's getting better," I said, buckling her in. "But she needs more time and doctors."
"And I stay with you?" she asked.
May you like
"Yeah," I said. "You stay with me."
She stared at me with those wide eyes and then nodded once, like that was an answer she could live with for now.
