“Yes.”
“I hate it.”
“That is allowed.”
Lily glanced up.
Doctors were supposed to defend their work.
At least that was how she imagined adults behaved.
Dr. Patel sat in the chair near the wall.
“The staples are temporary.”
“When do they come out?”
“If everything keeps healing well, likely next week.”
“Will it hurt?”
“It may pinch.”
“Forty-three times?”
Emily closed her eyes.
Dr. Patel almost smiled despite himself.
“Not every one feels the same.”
“That means yes.”
“That means I won’t lie to you.”
Something in Lily’s expression changed.
She remembered her mother’s promise.
Dr. Patel continued:
“We can use numbing medicine if needed.”
“We can take breaks.”
“You can tell us when you need to stop.”
Lily pulled her knees up.
“Will the line go away?”
“It will change.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dr. Patel looked at Emily.
Then back at Lily.
“No.”
“Not completely.”
Lily’s visible eye filled instantly.
“The scar should become much lighter and flatter over time.”
“Your hair may cover part of it when it grows back.”
“But I can’t promise it disappears.”
Lily turned toward the window.
“I knew it.”
Emily whispered:
“Lily…”
“I’m ugly forever.”
Dr. Patel’s expression tightened.
There were surgeries he knew how to perform.
This was not one.
Ellen watched him leave ten minutes later.
In the hallway, he exhaled.
“She was not like this yesterday.”
“The dressing came off.”
“I know.”
“She needs time.”
Emily came into the hallway after him.
“What do I do?”
Neither adult answered immediately.
Emily looked between them.
“She won’t eat.”
“She won’t walk.”
“She won’t look at me.”
“She keeps saying she’s a monster.”
Her voice broke.
“I spent six months begging anyone who would listen to save my daughter.”
“Now they have, and she thinks we destroyed her.”
Ellen touched her arm.
“She’s seven.”
Emily began crying.
“I know.”
“No.”
Ellen spoke gently.
“I mean she is seven.”
“She cannot hold what you’re holding.”
“She doesn’t understand clean margins, recurrence risk, surgical access, neurological outcomes.”
“She understands the mirror.”
Emily wiped her face.
“So what do I tell her?”
“Nothing for a little while.”
Emily looked frustrated.
Ellen continued:
“Let someone else talk to her.”
“Child life.”
“Psychology.”
“Another patient, maybe.”
“Someone who doesn’t need her to feel better because they’re scared too.”
Emily flinched.
Ellen hated saying it.
But it was true.
Parents sometimes needed recovery more urgently than the child because they had spent months imagining the alternative.
Lily could feel that pressure.
Be grateful.
Smile.
Walk.
Eat.
Celebrate.
She was not ready.
Emily whispered:
“I just want her to know she’s beautiful.”
“I know.”
“But right now she hears you saying she should not feel what she feels.”
Emily looked toward Room 304.
“What do I do?”
“Tell her you’re sorry you promised something you couldn’t know.”