“Not yours.”
Ava hugged him.
Twenty minutes later Andre drove Nia to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta.
His sister met him there.
Andre had called her from the driveway.
Dr. Simone Carter was forty-four, a pediatric anesthesiologist, Andre’s older sister, and one of the few people he trusted completely.
She arrived still wearing hospital scrubs beneath a long coat.
The moment she saw Nia, her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Professionally.
That frightened Andre more.
Simone hugged her niece.
Then looked at Andre.
“How much weight?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was her last physical?”
“August.”
“Do you remember the weight?”
Andre opened the patient portal on his phone.
One hundred twelve pounds.
Tonight:
Ninety-seven.
Andre sat down.
Fifteen pounds.
Three months.
Nia was five feet three.
The pediatrician ordered blood work.
Electrolytes.
Iron studies.
Glucose.
Kidney function.
Hydration assessment.
Nia was mildly dehydrated, iron deficient, and underweight, but not yet medically unstable enough for admission.
The doctor asked to speak with Nia privately.
Andre agreed immediately.
He waited outside with Simone.
The corridor lights were too bright.
Andre sat with elbows on his knees.
Simone said nothing for several minutes.
Then:
“How long were you traveling?”
Andre stared at the floor.
“A lot.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Two or three nights most weeks.”
“For how long?”
“Six months.”
Simone exhaled.
Andre continued.
“Expansion.”
“I know.”
“I thought it was temporary.”
“Everything is temporary while you’re doing it.”
He looked at her.
She softened.
“I’m not blaming you.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
Andre frowned.
Simone continued.
“A little guilt is useful.”
“Enough to change something.”
“Not enough to destroy yourself.”
Andre leaned back.
“How did I not see?”
“Because children hide things.”
“Not from me.”
Simone looked at him.
“You really believe that?”
Andre said nothing.
She continued.
“Nia lost her mother young.”
“She watched you grieve.”
“She knows your face when you’re worried.”
“Kids like that can become very skilled at protecting parents.”
Andre remembered Nia’s words.
You were working for us.
Simone continued.
“Add a stepmother telling her you’ll be disappointed, or that you’re too busy, or that speaking up will cause conflict…”
She shook her head.
“She may have believed silence was love.”
Andre covered his face.
Simone placed one hand on his shoulder.
“Then teach her something different.”
The pediatrician returned twenty minutes later.
She looked serious.
“Nia gave me permission to share everything.”
Andre stood.
The doctor explained.
Vanessa had begun restricting food approximately five months earlier.
At first she framed it as “healthier eating.”
No desserts.
No snacks.
Smaller portions.
Only for Nia.
Then Andre’s travel increased.
Vanessa began separating Nia during dinner.
When Nia complained, Vanessa told her the trust’s attorneys were worried about her maturity and that Andre agreed she needed “discipline.”