Molly
Forty-eight hours feel longer when you are waiting for numbers to decide something important.
Especially when those numbers belong to an eight-year-old girl who has already been through more than she should have.
We are back in the examination room again for the follow-up reading. Lily is sitting on the bed with the stabilizer band still wrapped around her wrist, swinging her legs slowly while Matt studies the tablet in his hands.
Charles is standing beside her with one hand resting on her shoulder, quiet but tense in a way I have learned to recognize over the past month.
Catherine is waiting near the cabinet with her arms folded across her chest. She has not spoken to me since we arrived.
Matt scrolls through the readings once.
Then he scrolls through them again.
His expre
